The Sight Unseen
by OddMawd
Summary: Yamato pays the bills by telling fake fortunes... or so she thinks. Turns out half her customers are demons and her lying ass has been predicting the future with uncanny accuracy for years. Now she's on the run from the same demon who murdered her aunt, and her only hope of survival is a certain Spirit Detective and his friends. Specifically the pretty one with red hair... KxOC
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1: Girls' Night Out**

**X**

Visiting a fortune teller had been Botan's bright idea, and the only reason Keiko went along with it was because Botan had a very persuasive kitty-face.

Not that Keiko was so weak-willed as to fall for Botan's kitty face every time the reaper whipped it out, of course. No, Keiko could resist it just fine—but Keiko had already resisted Botan's idea of putting unicorn horns into the reception center pieces, and she'd also struck down Botan's desire to make Keiko wear a pair of bright pink sneakers to the wedding itself, not to mention the sparkly butterfly clips Botan wanted Keiko to wear on her veil. Botan had a design aesthetic as bright and cheery as her hair, one that didn't quite mesh with Keiko's more refined, subtle tastes. Especially not when Keiko's wedding was on the line.

And that's how Keiko found herself standing in front of a nondescript apartment complex, a grinning Botan at her side, one week to the day before her wedding to Yusuke. After denying Botan input on so many factors concerning her impending nuptials, Keiko figured she ought to throw her friend this last, small bone in compensation.

Botan certainly looked happy enough to be having a girls' night out. She rocked back and forth on her heels, humming absently as she checked the address on the paper clutched in her hand. Her blue hair shone like cotton candy under the light of the streetlamp overhead, color dappled by the shadows of the moths wheeling around the glowing globe.

"Well, we're in the right spot!" Botan said as she folded the paper up and shoved it in her pocket. "Just have to find the right apartment."

Keiko's brow lifted. "She works out of her apartment?"

"Most fortune tellers do in this country, I'm told."

"I wouldn't know." Keiko shrugged. "I've never been to one."

"Really?" Botan's eyes widened. "I thought fortune tellers were common here."

Botan often displayed an odd lack of knowledge (and an accompanying enthusiastic wonder) about Human World, but about this particular subject, Botan wasn't wrong. Fortune tellers were indeed popular in Japan. Several had call-in TV shows on local channels, and there was even a famous one on cable. "The Fountain of Aura" or something like that. Keiko had clicked past it a dozen or more times when she had trouble sleeping, and she passed fortune tellers' shops and pop-up stands on the street quite often. Young women often flocked to them for advice about their boyfriends, but Keiko had never felt the need to join in—not even when Yusuke had stayed away in Demon World for so long, out of touch and distant. Even then, she'd believed that he'd return, and thus she'd had no need for fortune tellers—but Botan's expectant eyes gave Keiko pause.

"My friends have been to them," she admitted. "They've invited me before, but I never…"

Botan's confusion abated. "Until Yusuke's ordeal, telling fortunes probably sounded farfetched to you, didn't it?"

"Right." Keiko nodded. "And then I was living with the supernatural up close and personal." A smile bowed her lips. "Why pay money for it when I have you, Botan?"

"I should think not!" The reaper giggled. "You know something? I've never visited a fortune teller, either. But I've always wanted to see one. I spent time moonlighting as a fortune teller back in the day, just after Yusuke's resurrection." She put a hand to her cheek and sighed. "Oh, nostalgia. I looked great in that cape."

"I'll bet you did," Keiko said (and privately she hoped that the night's festivities wouldn't inspire Botan to wear said cape to the wedding).

The apartment complex was typical of Mushiyori City. Several stories tall, the doors to the apartments lay along open-air walkways that could be reached by one of the many staircases zigzagging up the building's unadorned face. Botan led the way up the nearest, guiding Keiko to the second floor and down to the end of the walkway, near the corner of the building. They stopped before unit 277, where Botan rang the bell with a press of one excited finger.

Immediately a voice from within called, "Enter!"

And thus, they did, though Keiko at once wished Botan hadn't opened the door at all. A veritable wall of perfumed air poured out of the apartment, wafting across their faces with a reek of unnamable incense that made Keiko's eyes water. They watered so much she could only barely make out the apartment beyond, with its floor covered in mounds of overlapping rugs (_Tripping hazard!_ Keiko thought), the draperies covering the walls with cloth and beads, and the beaded curtain blocking the way into what was most likely the kitchen. Light came from a dozen or so flickering lamps scattered across various mismatched end tables, giving the room a somewhat spooky vibe… but the effect was ruined for Keiko. She was too concerned about the oil lamps sitting too near the very flammable mounds of carpet to absorb the room's careful affectation.

Botan, however, seemed quite impressed, judging by the awed look on her face. She practically skipped inside (_Tripping hazard!_ Keiko thought again as she picked her way over the carpets) before settling into a _seiza_ kneel in front of the low table in the center of the room. Keiko sat beside her as the apartment door drifted shut at their backs, studying the woman kneeling across from them with barely disguised skepticism.

The woman was unmistakably the fortune teller. She'd done her best to dress the part. Long black hair spilled from beneath the wine-colored wrap tied atop her hair; she wore at least six shawls, layers obscuring the dimensions of her figure like a caterpillar hidden inside an eclectically bohemian cocoon. She sat with her back hunched, head hanging low on the end of her long neck. Tassels dripped from the edges of her shawl. The beads clinked together as she swirled her hands around the enormous crystal ball sitting on a bronze stand in the table's center. She wore a ring on each and every finger, and they caught the light of the oil lamps in a conflagration of rainbow refraction. The crystal ball caught the light, too, making it dance across Keiko's face in tiny pips of reflected light. The fortune teller regarded Keiko and Botan over the crystal through eyes rimmed in so much eyeliner, she quite resembled a tanuki in desperate need of a good night's rest.

In short, she was the single most stereotypical-looking fortune teller Keiko had ever seen, appearance carefully cultivated to resemble an unfortunate caricature of an eastern-European mystic. Not the best choice for branding, Keiko reflected to herself. She would be better off styled as a Japanese shaman, given they lived in Japan and whatnot.

The fortune teller, whose face was neither old nor young thanks to its abundance of overdrawn eyeliner, regarded them solemnly for a time. Then her hands settled flat atop the table, rings clicking together musically.

"Welcome." She spoke in a thin, reedy voice—the exact kind of cliché voice you think of when you picture how a fortune teller might speak, which of course made Keiko think that she was faking it. "Whose fortune am I to divine on this fine night?"

(_Shouldn't she know that already?_)

"My friend Keiko's, here, of course!" said Botan, who apparently was a lot less skeptical of potential bamboozlement than Keiko. "Please read her fortune!"

Self-conscious, Keiko folded her hands neatly atop the table. From within her eyeliner the woman sized Keiko up, eyes raking up and down her face like claws. Absently Keiko noticed that the fortune teller wore acrylic nails, cut long and painted deep purple. Really, she could've been 60 or 26, with nails like that. It was hard to tell, though the hunched back made Keiko suspect the former.

"You are to be married soon, yes?" the fortune teller rasped.

Botan gasped. "How did you know that?"

The fortune teller's mouth curled in satisfaction. Keiko was less impressed, however, and she moved her hand—the one with the sparkly engagement ring upon it—out of sight below the table.

"Yes." The fortune teller lifted her hands, waving them around the crystal ball again. "You are to be married within this cycle of the moon, the universe sings to me."

OK. That specificity was a little more impressive. Keiko leaned forward in spite of herself, a frown tugging at her mouth as the fortune teller's eyes fluttered shut.

"The universe tells me many things." Her voice came out in a whisper, still reedy, now hushed. "But to know more…"

Botan leaned forward, entranced.

The fortune teller's eyes snapped open; she pointed over Botan's shoulder toward a plaque hanging on the back of the apartment's front door.

She said, more brightly than before: "Please consult my pay scale and select your desired service package."

It took every ounce of her composure to keep from laughing. Keiko opted instead for rolling her eyes as Botan happily consulted the service menu and paid for a standard crystal ball reading (instead of the deluxe package; Keiko wouldn't let her pay for the deluxe package). The money disappeared into the folds of the fortune teller's shawl and out of sight as soon as Botan handed it over. Hands reemerged from the cloak to once more swirl around the crystal ball, rings upon them catching the light in another storm of fractured illumination.

"Now…" She gazed steadily into the ball, eyes distant, mouth barely moving as she spoke. "Your groom-to-be has known you for many years. Your bond is strong, having stood the test of time and hurdles immeasurable."

Botan gasped again. This time, Keiko felt tempted to join in. That bit of divination had been much more convincing than the last, though Keiko of course still chalked it up to a parlor trick. She had to wonder how this was done, though…

"However…" The fortune teller leaned toward them, eyes narrowing until they all but vanished in pits of eyeliner. "His youthful spirit causes you worry. You wonder about the future, and if he will be there for all of it." Her eyes flickered to Keiko's face, motion given away by the merest sparkle in her socket's black depths. "You wonder if he will wander with the wind to places you cannot follow."

Botan didn't gasp that time. She just reached for Keiko's hand beneath the table and squeezed it. And Keiko… she just swallowed, fingers cold and clammy within Botan's steadying grasp.

Demon World.

That was the first thing she thought of upon hearing the fortune teller speak. Keiko would never be able to follow Yusuke to Demon World. Is that what the fortune teller meant? Had she really managed to discern that truth? But how could she…?

The fortune teller continued to study her face—but then her lips curled again. Her hunched back straightened, face pulling away from the depths of her crystal ball.

"Fear not," she said, wagging one ringed finger at Keiko gently. "His love for you is true and certain. If he wanders, it is only so he can find his way back to you once more."

For a moment, Keiko just sat there.

But then… the lump in her throat eased.

The fortune teller grinned. Her teeth where white and straight, gleaming as brightly as her rings as she stood and shuffled to the back of the room. A tall piece of furniture stood along the room's back wall, draped in a black sheet edged in silver moons. She swiped this tapestry off the object to reveal, of all things, and _omikuji_ cabinet. It was large and made of oiled wood, covered in dozens of tiny drawers with small brass knobs, just like the one at the shrine Keiko visited with her parents every New Year's Day. It was a Japanese fortune-telling object, nothing like the Western accoutrements the fortune teller had shown them thus far, and for a moment, Keiko could only stare at it in confused silence.

The fortune teller waved a hand. "Come," she said, gesturing at the cabinet. "A blessing for you."

Botan piped in, "But that's part of the deluxe package, and we only paid for—"

The fortune teller shook her head, beads on her headscarf rattling. "Call it a gift," she said, and she gestured once again. "Come. I insist." Her eyes turned the color of flint. "But you must choose it yourself."

Keiko rose. She picked her way across the swamp of overlapping rugs and to the _omikuji_ cabinet. Her fingertips ghosted over the many tiny doors on its face before they settled on one near the center. It opened with the softest of creaks, revealing a tiny scroll tied shut with a bit of string. She picked it up and slid off the knot, unfurling the scroll with a swipe of thumb.

"It's a blessing of trust," she said once she read the characters written on the sheet of paper.

The fortune teller nodded, shutting the door Keiko had opened on the _omikuji_ with the flat of her palm.

"Trust him," she said, meeting Keiko's eyes with her own—ones Keiko now saw were dark brown, nearly black, and just as intense as the reek of incense inside the apartment. "Trust in his love for you. Trust in the bond you share. Trust him as you always have, and you will not be steered wrong."

Her words were spoken with conviction, with a certainty that made Keiko wonder—if only for a moment—if the fortune teller really was tapped into some universal font of truth to which most mortals were not privy. But she didn't ask about this (some things are not knowable) and instead bowed.

"Thank you," Keiko said.

"You're welcome." She waved them toward the door. "I hope to see you again. And many blessings on your wedding." The fortune teller's lips curled, grin warm and kind. "May it run smoothly, and may no unwanted guests darken the light of your door."

It was an obvious dismissal, one Keiko didn't mind obeying (even if she wondered if this session had been rather short, given what Botan paid for it). They left into the quiet, damp night and walked down the stairs to the street below, scent of incense clinging to Keiko's clothes but fading quickly in the fresh, clean air. Botan didn't speak, allowing Keiko time with her thoughts as the pair travelled down the street, toward a fork in the road that would take them to Yusuke's ramen stand. Keiko was going to walk home with him once he got off work. She was not certain, if he asked, whether or not she'd tell him what she'd been told by the fortune teller.

"That was nice of her, to give you a blessing like she did," Botan said eventually. "We didn't even pay for the deluxe package!"

Keiko didn't say anything for a moment. Soon, though, she tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear, eyes trained on the concrete under their passing feet.

"You know, Botan." Keiko smiled at the pavement just a little. "I was skeptical when you first said you wanted to bring me here. But even if she was just pretending, it was nice. Comforting, really. I can see why people love coming to see—Botan?"

Mid-speech, Botan had grabbed Keiko by the arm.

It wasn't terribly unusual for Botan to randomly touch her friends. She was a hugger, prone to outburst of unforeseen affection, but the vice grip she had on Keiko's forearm was not affectionate. It was forceful, rather, bruising and desperate—another quality that didn't describe Botan whatsoever. Keiko fell quiet in an instant and allowed Botan to yank her off of the sidewalk and into the shadows of a restaurant's doorway, where Botan hid them both behind a large sandwich board proclaiming that happy hour would start at midnight.

Almost immediately, two huge men walked past their hiding spot. Keiko didn't get the best look at them, but despite the sandwich board taking up a large chunk of her view, she still got a sense for the sheer _size_ of them. They were big enough to see over the signage even though she and Botan had crouched down quite low, and the hems of their long (but not long enough) coats slapped noisily against the back of their knees with every step. It was a warm spring night, and definitely not the kind of night requiring a trench coat, but Keiko was too busy concentrating on holding her breath to pay that special attention. And along with her breath, she was focused on the implications of Botan's actions, not to mention the look of ashen panic on the otherwise bubbly reaper's face—a look Keiko recognized at once.

Keiko might be as psychic as a sushi roll, but she wasn't _stupid_.

As soon as the sound of the men's' heavy footfalls faded into the distance, Keiko whispered, "Demons?"

Botan nodded sharply as sweat beaded on her upper lip. She passed her fingers through her bangs, matting them to her forehead like ribbons of blue vein against translucent flesh.

"Yes," Botan said, eyes cutting this way and that. "They have horns."

Not that that was out of the ordinary. Demons had been living in Human World more and more regularly after the barrier between worlds came down. Yusuke was always helping demons new to Human World out by putting them up at Genkai's temple, and by helping them find places to live in the city; the thought of demons didn't curdle Keiko's milk, so to speak, as it had when she first learned of their existence. She'd met many of Yusuke's demonic friends, and she considered many of them friends enough to invite to her wedding. That's why they were hosting the wedding at Genkai's temple, after all. Keiko wanted their supernatural friends to attend the party in comfort. But no matter how accustomed to demons Keiko had grown over the years, the look on Botan's face told her that the two men in trench coats weren't par for the course.

"These aren't the run-of-the-mill Demon World immigrants we're used to, are they?" she muttered to Botan.

"No. They aren't." Botan audibly swallowed. "They're _murderous_." Swallowed again. "Weak… but still."

Slowly, Botan and Keiko slid from the shadows and back onto the sidewalk. The two men, tall with broad shoulders that strained their beige coats, walked at a steady and quick clip away from them. At the end of the street loomed the fortune teller's apartment complex, silhouetting their wide forms with its pale white heft. Keiko watched with her heart in her mouth, the acrid scent of adrenaline in her nostrils, as they continued toward it with determination dogged—and then her heart nearly leapt from between her teeth as they came to a stop in front of the very same apartment complex that Botan and Keiko had just left.

"No." The word slipped from her mouth in disbelief. "No. They can't—"

"They couldn't be—" Botan agreed.

But they could, and they would, because after a moment's pause, the two men (the murderous demons, Keiko reminded herself) began to climb the apartment's stairs to the second floor. She hoped they'd keep going after they reached the second floor, but they didn't. They began to walk down the open-air second story landing, passing apartment door after apartment door moment by agonizing moment.

"Surely they're not here for _her_," Botan said; it was obvious about whom she was speaking. "Surely they'll keep on walking, won't they?"

But they did not keep on walking.

A moment later they stopped, one beside the other, in front of apartment 277.

A moment after that, Botan summoned her oar.

Keiko hunted around on the ground until she found a brick beneath the sandwich board—one most likely used to prop open doors.

"Ready?" Botan said, clutching her oar in both determined hands.

Keiko hefted her brick high. "Let's go."

They exchanged no more words than that. They knew what they had to do. They broke out running down the street, and they ran faster when they saw the two demons open the door to the fortune teller's apartment and disappear inside. Part of Keiko wanted to double back and go find Yusuke, to let him take care of this instead of her, because Keiko knew full well how dangerous this was, facing down demons with no one but Botan beside her… but she had learned a thing or two from Yusuke over the years. The first thing was that if they just leave the fortune teller to her fate, there was no telling what might happen.

And the second thing?

She had learned from Yusuke how to be a person of action, and not to let the baddies run loose on her turf.

Botan mounted her oar and sailed skyward as Keiko hit the apartment's stairs and bolted up them. Panting, but not winded, she met Botan outside the fortune teller's door and signaled for Botan to hang back just a moment longer. Keiko stilled her breathing and leaned her ear against the door, hoping to hear something—anything—that might give her an advantage when they inevitably burst inside.

What she heard was this: "S-stay back! I mean it!" A thump, and then another. "I will hit you with this crowbar, I swear to fucking Christ, _do not make me hit you with this crowbar!_"

(The voice that screeched those words, thin and high and feminine, didn't sound anything like the fortune teller's; Keiko noted this in an absent-minded way, because there were much bigger things to worry about just then.)

And then another voice, masculine and very deep, replied. "Now, now," he said, sounding about as comforting as rocks in a pillowcase. "No need to be scared. We're to take you in alive."

"Yeah, that's right," said a second deep voice. "We just need your eyes; that's all!"

A crash followed this statement within an instant, one accompanied by a high-pitched shriek of rage. A low growl filtered through the doorway under Keiko's cheek, purring against her skin like angry bees.

"Alive and eyes intact—but the boss didn't said anything about you needing your damn legs," rumbled one of the deeper voices. "Try that again and I'll—"

Keiko pulled her cheek from the door, backed up, and pointed through the apartment wall to the left and to the right, directly at the places she thought the demons might be standing.

Botan nodded in confirmation.

Keiko readied her brick.

Botan kicked the door down with a hyena scream of feral rage, and Botan and Keiko burst into the room with weapons poised to strike.

As she ran forward (_tripping hazard! _she reminded herself of the rugs on the floor) Keiko took stock of the room with a hurried sweep of keen and careful eye. The table with the crystal ball had been knocked askew, crystal miraculously in one piece where it had rolled away into a corner. The fortune teller had backed up against the _omikuji_ cabinet with a crowbar in her hand, eyes wide, scarves undulating about her hunched body like the tentacles of a frightened octopus. Her eyes grew wider when they registered Botan and Keiko, and the woman started to shout a warning as the demons turned around—but they moved too slowly, and Botan and Keiko loose twin yells of fury as bashed the men over the heads with their respective weapons. Keiko's fell with a grunt; she darted around him, Botan still wailing on her demon with furious cries and loud smacks of oar on cranium, and Keiko grabbed the fortune teller's hand and _yanked_.

"Come with me!" she said.

The fortune teller blinked at her a few times. "Wait, you're that girl who—"

Keiko yanked her arm again—harder this time.

"Ack!" said the fortune teller as she stumbled after. "All right, I'm comin', sheesh!"

And they ran, the three of them fleeing into the night to the tune of the fortune teller's jingling beads—but despite the cacophony of the fortune teller's clothes and the blood rushing in her ears, Keiko heard the demons' cries of anger and the footsteps that hounded them down the stairs and into the street, and thus Keiko didn't dare look back. She just ran and ran, hand still clamped around the fortune teller's sweating fingers, running and running like they were being drawn to their destination by a magnet. Just run a little more, a little more, she told herself, and if you can get to _him_, you'll be safe. She knew the way to his ramen stand like she knew the landscape of her own heart, and soon Keiko, Botan and the fortune teller thundered around one final corner—and there he was.

He had parked his cart up against the back of a laundromat; this alley was his usual Sunday-night hangout, one that smelled as much of ramen as it did of detergent and laundry starch. He didn't even look up as they ran toward him. He just grinned, face misty behind the steam rising from a bowl of noodles, because he could no doubt sense exactly who had entered the alley—but then his face fell. He looked up, teeth bared, as the two demons at Keiko's back skidded around the corner, too.

Seeing Yusuke fight was like poetry. Very _violent_ poetry. He leaped over the counter and blurred out of sight, a wind that smelled like ramen and Yusuke's shampoo streaking past too fast for Keiko's eyes to follow, and then there was a grunt and the sound of a fist on flesh. Keiko spun, putting the fortune teller and Botan behind her as she held out her arms to defend them both, watching with frantic and absent pride as Yusuke downed both men and blurred from sight once more. He reappeared an inch from her face, hands on her shoulders as he pulled her to him in a ramen-scented rush.

"Keiko, are you OK?!" Yusuke said.

"I'm fine." She shoved away, but only so she could look up into his livid face. "Those demons—they weren't after me."

From behind her Botan trilled, "They were trying to kidnap this fortune teller!"

Yusuke's eyes, bright brown and right then full of thunder, flickered over her shoulder; he let her go so she could turn, all eyes on the fortune teller. The aforementioned woman stared at the demons on the ground in slack-jawed amazement—and Keiko noticed that she was actually rather tall. Taller than Yusuke, at least. The hunch in her back had vanished, which was hardly the weirdest thing that happened this evening but OK, whatever; Keiko would follow up about that later. Just then Yusuke strode forward and grabbed the fortune teller by the front of one of her many, many shawls. The fortune teller hardly noticed, though. She only had eyes for the demons on the pavement. Yusuke didn't like that, of course, so he hefted her high enough that she had to rock onto her toes.

"Hey. HEY! Listen to me!" He gave her a little shake, beads and tassels jangling. "What the hell did those demons want with you, huh?"

The fortune teller blinked like an owl waking from a coma, and then she blinked again. All at once her face transformed into a mask of horror. She hiccupped once, then twice, and her lower lip began to tremble.

"I—I have _no fucking idea!"_ she wailed in a high, clear voice, and she burst promptly into tears.

**X**

**WELCOME TO MY FANFIC. I can't promise this won't be a clichéd mess; I just wanna have some fun with an OC and use my fav fanfic tropes while doing it. Thanks for reading and please let me know what you think. Kisses, byeeeeee (also Keiko being where she was tonight wasn't a coincidence but you'll see how soon, byeeeeee againnnnn~)…**


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 02: "Girls' Worst Nightmare"**

**X**

It was well past midnight, but Kurama dutifully took one of the last trains of the evening to — well, wherever it was that Botan had requested he trek. She had called an hour before to babble something about the attempted kidnapping of a fortune teller before she squawked Yusuke's address, telling him to hurry before hanging up to call Kuwabara. Although Botan had a certain predilection for dramatics, Kurama knew she wouldn't use her panicked, threadbare tone needlessly. She wasn't the type to make idle demands, all dramatics aside, so Kurama paused the movie he'd been watching, put on a jacket, and headed over.

Botan opened the door scarcely after he finished knocking, panel swinging out from under his knuckles with a rush of air. Wisps of flyaway hair framed her pretty face, odd magenta eyes (so unusual for the human world) gleaming with worry and more of the panic he'd heard earlier in her voice. She ushered him in, jittery smile skating across her mouth.

"Oh, thank _goodness_ you're here," she said, voice reedy.

"Hello to you too, Botan," Kurama said.

Upon entering, Kurama observed that Yusuke's apartment was cluttered, but clean; Keiko probably came over a tidied up a few times a week, he was sure. The soon-to-be married couple wasn't going to live together until after the wedding (Keiko's parents were rather traditional, she claimed) but she had nevertheless already made her mark on Yusuke's living space… although she hadn't been able to do a thing about the wrestling and Megallica posters festooning Yusuke's walls. Some battles were just beyond her.

Keiko was sitting on the couch in Yusuke's small living room when he walked in, and the typically effusive woman gave him little more than a cursory nod in greeting. Yusuke leaned against a wall a few feet away by a door, arms crossed, surly. His arms uncrossed when he spotted Kurama; he pushed off the wall with the barest twitch of muscle, jerking his thumb over his shoulder at the door he'd been guarding.

"She's in the bathroom," Yusuke said, and then he yelled at the door, "And she's taking _forever_!"

No response came from within the bathroom, although Kurama discerned the faint sound of running water from beyond the wooden slab. He turned his eyes back toward Yusuke, brow lifted.

"What happened?" he asked.

But Yusuke only shrugged, saying, "I wasn't there for most of it. Keiko?"

The woman on the couch stirred. Something in her gaze appeared brittle, almost, like a dry twig creaking beneath a heavy boot, but the expression disappeared quickly enough. She cleared her throat, pulling the arms of her sweater further down the lengths of her slender hands.

"Botan and I went to get our fortunes read," she said, and as if summoned, Botan appeared behind her in the living room doorway.

"It was all fine until we left," Botan explained, "but these two demons…"

They told him the story in turns, each providing details the other had missed. Kurama took up residence in an armchair beside the television, across from Keiko's spot on the couch, and listened in patient silence with fingers steeled before his lips. Occasionally he asked a question, but mostly he just considered what they had to say. He did not want to influence their report, naturally. That wouldn't do when there was a mystery to be solved.

"Where are they now?" he asked once Botan recounted how Yusuke had beaten the demons who had pursued them across town. But she did not understand the question, if her owlish blink was anything to go by, so Kurama clarified, "The two demons Yusuke fought — well. Pummeled, I suppose, given they didn't stand much of a chance against him."

"_Oh_." Botan's cheeks colored. "Um."

"Well, you see —" Keiko added before cutting off with a strained clearing of her throat.

Yusuke let out a sigh and rolled his eyes. "Just spit it out already!" he snapped, and when Botan and Keiko hesitated, he turned to Kurama to admit, "I started questioning the fortune teller and the demons got away while I was distracted, all right?"

Kurama blinked. "They just… walked away?"

"Skulked, I should think," Botan offered. "Or snuck. They were very crafty, that's for certain."

Either the demons were crafty or due diligence had not been done in the heat of the moment; Kurama suspected the latter, though he kept this suspicion to himself. He waited for Yusuke to calm down before speaking, keeping his tone as regulated as he could.

"This complicates matters," Kurama said. "Without one of the demons to question, we can't be sure what compelled them to attack this…" He came up short. "What did you say the fortune teller's name was?"

Botan and Keiko exchanged a look of sudden guilt.

"We didn't say," Botan said.

"We also didn't ask," Keiko admitted with a huff.

"Yet. We didn't ask _yet_!" said Botan. "There wasn't exactly time, you see. We bustled her over here to safety as soon as we could."

"And Yusuke was too busy yelling at her for putting me in danger to wonder what her name was," Keiko dryly intoned.

"Not that yelling at her did any good." Yusuke was leaning against the wall again, shooting murderous daggers at the bathroom door (and, presumably, the woman behind it). "She just cried a lot and said she didn't know what was going on."

"And you believe her?" Kurama asked, brows shooting dangerously close to his hairline.

"I mean. Yeah?" Yusuke said, shrugging. "That eyeliner of hers got everywhere. Crying that hard seems tough to fake."

The door beside him opened with a creak, and from within a voice replied, "It's only tough if you're a bad actress — which I'm not."

The fortune teller (because that was who this was, it was easy enough to deduce) struck an impressive figure as she swaggered out of the bathroom — although the effect of her many swirling shawls, clinking jewelry and fringed headscarf was somewhat diminished by the oilslick of black eyeliner smeared across her cheeks, not to mention her hands, which she held in front of her like they were covered in wet paint. And perhaps they were, in a sense; she had clearly been crying, and her fingertips were stained with the same black that marred her cheeks. Kurama looked at her closely, trying to determine if her eyes were red, or if her face bore any other sign of legitimate tears… but it was difficult to truly see her underneath the copious costuming and stains. In fact, Kurama couldn't conclude much about the woman underneath the heinously stereotypical getup at all. The makeup and the costuming were just too distracting.

But perhaps that was the point.

The woman gave no indication of noticing his scrutiny. She simply stood there, inspecting her hands and nails as she said, "But more to the point — yeah. The waterworks were real." She lifted her eyes toward Keiko and Botan. "Do either of you have any makeup remover?" She flexed her blackened fingers. "This stuff is tough, but even it can't stand up to a complete breakdown."

For a moment, no one spoke.

Then, in a voice of quiet helpfulness, Botan said, "I have some, I think."

She produced from her purse a packet of makeup removing towelettes, which she handed over to the fortune teller with a smile. The fortune teller didn't return the expression, but she did give a little bow of thanks. Proper Japanese manners, Kurama thought. He filed the note away for future contemplation.

Botan, however, seemed less impressed with the woman's grace, or at least she was too distracted by something else to notice it. She stared up at the fortune teller (who was taller than Botan by at least six inches) with her face screwed up, looking her over from feet to shawl-covered head in consternation.

"You're actually rather… tall," Botan said. "I couldn't tell under all those shawls, but earlier I thought you were, well… shorter?"

"Oh. Yeah. I hunch when I'm at work." She demonstrated, neck arching as her shoulders came forward toward her ears; suddenly she was quite a bit shorter than Botan, after all. "The ancient crone gambit tends to reel in the customers. And it's Yamato, by the way."

"Huh?"

"My name." Her back straightened again. "It's Yamato Rei."

Botan introduced herself, as did Keiko and Yusuke (but only after Keiko glared at him and told him to mind his manners). Kurama eyed Yamato over while the others spoke, measuring her words against her appearance and her odd comment about acting from before.

"Ancient crone gambit," he said, drawing her attention. "You mean you aren't — ?"

Yamato scoffed. "A real fortune teller from the European Old Country? Not a chance."

Kurama had more questions, but she looked away. Juggling the towelette packet to between her knees, she pulled her arms inside her outermost shawl and stripped it off over her head. She took care not to dislodge her beaded head wrap, which gave an alarming jangle as she peeled away one, two, three — _seven entire shawls_, which she dropped unceremoniously to the floor in a heap. Underneath her cicada shell of clothing, she wore a simple pair of jeans and a plain white shirt. Unlike the shawls, these were formfitting enough to reveal her tall stature and slender proportions. Yamato was built athletically, with boyish hips and long legs.

She also had a somewhat boyish mouth, if one believes men are more prone to profanity than women. "Jesus _Christ_, that shit's warm!" she said as she dropped the last shawl and straightened her head scarf. Long strands of glossy black hair lay along her chest; she combed through them, pulling free the tangles with her fingers.

Her foul mouth — not to mention the white tennis shoes she'd apparently been wearing underneath her fortune teller regalia — gave Kurama abundant reason to doubt her appearance belied reality.

"Are you really a fortune teller at all?" he said.

Yamato laughed as she walked toward the couch, where she plopped unceremoniously down beside Keiko. "Nope," she said, taking one of the towelettes out of the pack. "No, I am not."

Yusuke frowned. "So you're not psychic?" he said, voicing Kurama's own conclusion about Yamato aloud.

She paused with the wipe midway to her face. Yamato looked at Botan, Keiko and Yusuke in turns, and — when she saw that none of them were laughing — lowered the wipe again.

"Don't tell me you actually believe in that kind of thing," she said, judgment dripping from every syllable.

The room's occupants (Kurama included, but only for a moment) openly gaped at her.

"Because it's not _real_, y'know," Yamato said, as if explaining that the earth was, in fact, round. "I know that outfit of mine is _super convincing_, but it's all just smoke, mirrors and basic psychology."

"If you don't think it's real," Keiko said, "then why tell people's fortunes at all?"

Yamato shrugged. "I tell fortunes to put myself through college because it's easier than waiting tables." She lifted the makeup wipe back up toward her face. "And also because I don't have the tits for stripping."

Yusuke burst out laughing at once. Keiko glared at him, and Botan turned bright red before covering her mouth with one shocked hand. Kurama, meanwhile, smiled in spite of himself, but he forced his face into a mask of neutral detachment. No sense letting Yamato (who was wearing a Cheshire Cat grin of satisfaction) know he found her rather funny, too.

Funny — but casual. Far too casual for someone who had just been accosted by demons and yet admitted she did not believe in the supernatural in nearly the same breath. Something did not add up, and Kurama was intent on finding out what.

"Tell me, Yamato," he said, leaning toward her. "Did you notice anything odd about the two men who accosted you this evening?"

"You mean _besides_ the fact that they said they _literally wanted to eat my eyeballs_?" she grumbled, swiping at her face with the towel.

"Yes. Besides that."

"I mean. Not really?" Her face disappeared behind the nearly blackened towel. "I was kind of busy trying to fend them off with a crowbar."

"So you noticed nothing about them that was out of the ordinary." He watched her body language closely, hunting for a clue. "Nothing at all?"

Yamato lowered the towel. One cheek was almost clean, but despite the amount of makeup still coating her face, Kurama spotted the heavy lines between her brows and the hard set of her mouth. Skepticism and — anger, was it? Darkness colored her vision, like she did not enjoy what she saw when she met Kurama's assessing gaze.

"Who are you, again?" she said, boldly staring at him. "You weren't part of my merry band of rescuers, so I'm wondering why they called you instead of the damn cops like I asked." She shot Yusuke a sharp look. "You did call the cops, right? Because I'm _pretty sure_ those two dudes who chased us are escaped murderers or something, and the police really oughtta know who escaped from the mental hospital."

At once, everyone by Kurama looked away from her; only Keiko had the presence of mind to try and not look guilty, however, and Yamato's eyes grew darker still. She tossed her used towel onto the coffee table with a growl, yanking another from the packet with a jerk of frustrated fingers. "Oh, for the love of —"

"Consider me, and my associates by extension, a law enforcement group far more suited to incidences like these than the police," Kurama smoothly interjected — but when she just shot him a glance that said she'd rather pour glass in her eyes, he tacked on a small smile. "Please, Yamato-san. Answer my questions. I'm only trying to help."

Perhaps it was his sincere delivery that convinced Yamato to cooperate. Perhaps she was just tired. Whatever the reason, she signed and flopped back against the couch, still rubbing at her face with her fresh towel.

Inwardly, Kurama smirked. She was obstinate, yes, but easy enough to manipulate.

"All right. I'll bite," she said with a weary sigh. "No. Didn't notice much about the two dudes at all, to be honest." Yamato shuddered. "Other than the fact that they were both built like brick shit-houses and were wearing heavy trench coats in April, but…"

Botan blurted, "So you didn't notice the horns?"

Inwardly, Kurama cursed. Yusuke stiffened where he stood, and Keiko's head swung in a short, quick arc toward Botan — but somehow, Yamato didn't appear disturbed by Botan's claim. She just looked confused.

"The horns?" she repeated, but then recognition flared to life behind her eyes. "Oh. You mean the little…" She placed her knuckles against her hairline, pinkie fingers extended in an approximations of small devil horns. "Yeah, I saw those. What about 'em?"

Yusuke's jaw dropped. "What about — ?"

Botan shot to her feet. "What do you _mean_, what about them?!" she said. "Is that not something _odd_ you might have noticed?!"

"Uhhh, no?" Yamato said, looking at Botan as if she'd gone and sprouted a pig's nose. "I go through Harajuku all the time and horns are _in_ this season." She shook her head, tutting under her breath. "Heck, even _tails_ are in fashion right now! There's a guy in my Latin class who I swear has a goddamn monkey tail, prehensile and everything, it's actually really impressive but he won't tell me how he does it and —"

Yamato went on at length about some of the odd fashion choices she'd been seeing about town in recent months. Animal ears. Tails. Horns. Fangs. Scales she assumed were fancy, shimmering makeup. A few pairs of wings. Slit pupils and forked snake tongues that had to be some kind of prosthetic. She'd chalked it all up to the whims of Harajuku, birthplace of Japanese fashion that was usually ahead of the trend curve.

But while Yamato assumed she was merely witnessing the dress of early adopters of upcoming fashion, Kurama had privately decided that their non-psychic fortune teller might, in fact, might actually be psychic.

It was usually only psychics who could spot demons' true features the way Yamato could, after all.

As she droned on, Kurama's new impression of her only solidified. Typical humans with mundane sight subconsciously edited out the supernatural facets of most demons' appearances; some demons needed no disguises at all, counting on human stubbornness and denial to keep their true nature hidden. Most humans did not want to admit it when they spotted want to see the supernatural, so they simply did not allow themselves to see it. It was only the most monstrous of demons that needed a disguise to go unnoticed, but the things Yamato described having seen were features most demons would actively attempt to hide.

Psychic humans had, in a nutshell, better eyes than mundane humans — or more open minds, to be more accurate.

It seemed to Kurama that Yamato had no idea that her eyes saw not new fashion, but the truth.

When Yamato stopped talking, lapsing into silence as she set about cleaning her face, Kurama stood and walked over to Yusuke, drawing him by the elbow toward the back of the room. He pitched his voice low, leaning close to Yusuke's ear to speak without being overheard.

"How much have you told her?" he murmured.

"Not much. Mostly just asked her questions." Yusuke's mouth curled. "Didn't want her crying even harder."

"She's calm now," Kurama said. Moving forward with his investigation wouldn't be easy if they left Yamato in the dark for much longer. "Perhaps it's high time we—"

"I can _hear you_, y'know."

Kurama and Yusuke both winced; apparently Yamato had good ears as well as eyes. Turning, Kurama headed back toward the couch, rounding it so he could retake his seat.

"Apologies," he said as he sat down. "Now, Yamato-san…"

He lifted his eyes to look at her—but she was not the same Yamato as before, and Kurama stopped short at once.

She was almost finished cleaning her face, a pile of black wipes sitting on the coffee table before her. Without the makeup smeared over her cheeks and across her eyes, she looked young—much, much younger than he had assumed. No older than his human body, if he had to guess. Bright-eyed and defiant, she wore her lips in a thin line, eyes above them so dark they were nearly black, complexion even and clear and luminous. With her pert nose, delicate jaw, high cheekbones, she was… 'pretty' wasn't the word. Neither was 'beautiful.' More like 'striking,' if he had to choose a term. She'd be better looking if she stopped wearing her ridiculous beaded head scarf. Or perhaps that was just wishful thinking on his part. He wasn't sure.

But he was staring, he realized. Not that Yamato had noticed. She was busy taking off her enormous hoop earrings, so he was able to tear his eyes away without sustaining damage to his pride.

"Yamato-san," he said, drawing her attention once he composed himself. "If we are to understand the entirety of what transpired this evening, we need to divulge to you some… sensitive information, to put it mildly."

"Oh god." Yamato groaned. "Please don't get me involved in the Yakuza. Because if those guys were Yakuza, then —"

"They were not Yakuza." He suppressed a wry smile. "But by the time I'm finished, it's possible you might wish they were."

The fear in her all-black eyes turned to intrigue; a strange reaction, though one Kurama begrudgingly admired. She gazed at him for a minute in silence, dimple on her cheek telegraphing that she was most likely chewing on the inside of it, and then she leaned back against the couch. Yamato crossed her legs at the thigh and her arms over her chest, murmuring a low 'huh' under her breath.

"Holy shit," she said, sounding almost impressed. "You're _serious_."

"Yes," Kurama said.

"Huh." Her head tilted to one side with a clatter of beaded head scarf. "OK. Well." She paused before sighing and throwing up her hands. "It's not like tonight can get any weirder, so… lay it on me, Red." A grin stole across her face. "Do your worst."

At her request, Kurama did his worst. And when he finished explaining the truth of the three worlds, the existence of demons, the recent demon migration to Human World, and the fact that demons had apparently targeted her from some foul purpose, she didn't protest. Yamato didn't even express disbelief like he thought she would.

She just got up and ran for the bathroom, where she was violently ill — and when she finished, Kurama heard her mumble something about wishing it had been Yakuza who attacked her, after all.

**X**

**Anonymous, Xanaldy and Jessica are the fuckin' tops for leaving reviews. Just sayin'. **


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 03: "Girls Just Wanna Have Ghost-Free Apartments"**

**X**

By the time Kuwabara arrived at Yusuke's apartment, everybody had already left—but they were nice enough to leave a note telling him where they'd gone, at least. Botan's familiar bubbly penmanship, written in an iridescent ink that seemed to emit a faint light, greeted him when he snatched the note off the door and skimmed its contents.

"Dear Kuwabara," the note read. "By the time you get this, we will have left to take our new friend to their apartment. Please meet us there as promptly as you can."

Beneath this he found an address and comprehensives directions to his friends' destination. Seemed like a risky thing to write on a public note so soon after an attempted kidnapping (or at least that was his opinion), but beneath the directions, Botan had penned a postscript.

"PS: Only you, Kuwabara, can read this message thanks to a lovely little new gadget from Spirit World—the Invisible Ink Pen, which renders messages invisible to all but the intended recipient! Our R&D department has truly outdone themselves, if I do say so myself."

Kuwabara made a mental note to ask for an Invisible Ink Pen for Christmas before dashing away into the night.

The apartment wasn't far from Yusuke's place, which was nice. He was only a little winded when he arrived outside the specified dwelling, and Kurama opened the door only a few seconds after he rapped his knuckles on it. Before he could even say hello, however, Kuwabara was hit in the face with a wall of sweet but cloying incense, and his eyes snagged on a crystal ball glittering on a low table in the middle of the living room. Tapestries covered the walls and pillows covered the floor, and it was hard to focus on anything but the horribly strange décor as Kurama ushered him inside. Kuwabara walked in with his mouth open, taking in the sheer number of divination tools (not to mention the tacky-ass fortune telling price list on the back of the door) in horrified awe. The expression changed to one of mild confusion when he saw the two suitcases sitting next to the front door, of course. They were modern pieces of luggage, completely out of place next to all the kitschy crap.

Yusuke lounged on the floor near the crystal ball. He gave Kuwabara a nod, but it wasn't until Kurama cleared his throat that Kuwabara actually had the presence of mind to greet his friends.

"Uh. Hey," he said, fidgeting. "So where is she, anyway?"

Kurama nodded toward a door, one Kuwabara had to assume was a bedroom based on his next statement: "In her room, packing."

"You mean she's not _done_?" he said, eyes on the suitcases again—but on second thought, Shizuru always packed a lot, and that wasn't the weirdest thing afoot just then. "Why is she packing, though? And where are Keiko and Botan?"

Kurama smiled. "Fortunately for efficiency, the answers to your questions are one and the same. They're making arrangements to bring Yamato-san to Genkai's temple. Keiko is already spending the next week there to coordinate wedding details, after all, and Yusuke was set to join her in only a few days."

"Figured we could just bring Yamato, too," Yusuke said, cracking a grin. "What's one more guest when we're bringing, like, five hundred people there soon, anyway?"

"500?" Kurama's brows lifted, lips curling in a smile. "I have it on good authority that your guest list is only 100 names long." He turned to Kuwabara as Yusuke grumbled something about Kurama and Keiko being entirely too good of friends for his tastes. "Kuwabara, you and I were going to join them at the temple a few days before the wedding, originally, but I am electing to travel with them tomorrow. Safety in numbers, as it were."

"Count me in," Kuwabara said at once. "I'm on spring break, anyway. Little R&R at the temple is just what I need."

And Yukina would be joining them soon, too, to help Keiko. Seeing her was another thing he needed, though he knew Yusuke would just make fun of him if he said that in his outside-the-head voice.

Kurama only smiled, however. "Your optimism never fails to lift the energy of the room, Kuwabara. Thank you for your help."

"Sure thing." He shoved his hands in his pockets with a scowl. "Any word from the shrimp?"

"Botan is attempting to contact him as we speak. We'll know soon enough if he'll be making an appearance."

AKA, Hiei was still dicking around in Demon World. Good to know.

"And how's Yamada feel about all this?" Kuwabara said.

Kurama's cheek twitched. "Yama_to_."

"She's fine with it," Yusuke cut in. "Eager, even, which was weird."

"She said that under these 'very demonic circumstances,' she'll take whatever protection we can give," Kurama added with a tiny, almost secretive smile—one Kuwabara wasn't sure he understood.

So he just said, "Yamato sounds smart to me."

Kurama's cheek twitched again. "Indeed." He turned. "Yusuke, we should call Keiko and—"

As they started to talk travel arrangements, Kuwabara's attention drifted once more around the apartment, jumping from crystal ball to an _omikuji_ cabinet to the tapestries all over the walls. No telling what the color of the paint underneath might be. Eventually he found himself looking at the door to the mysterious Yamato's bedroom; a thump and a curse drifted from beyond it soon afterward, and he took it as a sign. He'd heard a lot about her from Yusuke on the phone, but it was about time he introduced himself to her, right? He'd be spending a week with her, after all—and it sounded like she could use a hand, too.

Yeah. He'd go in, help her out, and they'd be buddies in no time! Foolproof plan, Kuwabara; you're a genius.

Humming to himself, he strode over to the door and give it a quick knock (it was only polite!) before grasping the knob. A cheerful greeting poised on his lips, he walked into the room, whereupon he spotted Yamato at once. She was standing with her back to him on the far side of the tiny bedroom, kneeling to pull clothes out of a dresser. As soon as he passed the threshold, she bolted to her feet and spun to face him—but she didn't spin fast enough for him not to notice her hair.

Or _lack thereof_, to be more precise.

Not that she was bald. Not entirely, anyway. She had a kinda-sorta-long mop of hair on the top of her head, but the sides and back were super short, and a few irregular spots had no hair on them at all. Some spots were the size of a small coin; others were a few inches across, with jagged edges like baldness-amoebas creeping over her scalp. They hadn't been shaved, as far as he could tell. They were just patchy and thin, spotty and strange and unexpected.

So of course, the first words out of his mouth were, "What's wrong with your _head!?_"

And at once a furious Yamato screeched back, "What's wrong with _your_ mouth!?"

Feet pounded the floor outside; Yusuke and Kurama were there in seconds. This was too fast for Yamato, who probably had no idea humans could move at that speed; Kuwabara could only assume as much given the yelp of shock that came tumbling from her lips when they appeared, seemingly from out of nowhere, at Kuwabara's side. She dove for her dresser a moment after they arrived, scrambling to tug a ragged blue beanie over her head, hiding its weird patchy parts from view.

That's about the time Kuwabara noticed the wigs.

They filled a bookcase. Each sat on its own foam head, and they filled an _entire bookcase_ that stood beside the bed across the room. Probably 20 or so wigs in all, in all styles and colors (natural and unnatural alike), each one carefully brushed and combed and stored in a way that he had a feeling would make even Shizuru's picky ass proud. A duffle bag sat open on the bed nearby, a few foam heads and accompanying wigs spilling out of it onto the white comforter in a technicolor swirl.

The bedroom was minimalist, he realized with a start. All greys and whites with not a single decoration beyond the wigs, the polar opposite of the kitsch-clutter outside. But that hardly mattered because Yamato had stood up again and stalked forward, glaring at him through eyes the temperature of arctic steel.

"Don't you know to knock when you go inside somebody's bedroom!?" she spat. "What's _wrong_ with you!?"

"Uh—"

"Don't answer that. I don't even wanna know. And who the hell are you, anyway?" She spun toward Kurama and Yusuke. "Who the hell is he?"

"Yamato." Kurama reached for her arm, though she jerked away before he could touch it. As he withdrew his hand, he murmured, "It's all right. This is Kuwabara, the friend we told you about."

"I'm so sorry," Kuwabara burst out. "I didn't mean to—to barge in—I just—"

He waved at her, at the room, at the wigs, at the open door, and the expression on his blocky face was a hangdog as it gets. That wasn't a calculated look on his part (he really was very sincerely sorry that he'd spoken without thinking, because _obviously_ what he'd said was offensive), but it seemed to do the trick. Yamato deflated, hand resting atop her beanie as she sighed.

"It's all right," she said, eyes on the floor. Red splotches had gathered in her cheeks. "Whatever."

Yusuke, who was busy staring at the contents of the duffle bag with his mouth open, appeared not to have heard their exchange and said, "How many wigs do you even own?"

And Yamato was bristling again, gritting a strangled "Lots!" from between her teeth.

"May I ask why you've amassed this collection?" Kurama said.

His smile was too perfect, too easy to be real, and Kuwabara suspected that he was probably playing dumb to make Yamato think they hadn't seen her head. Which they had. And Yamato appeared to recognize what Kurama was up to, because she replied with snark unabundant.

"Fear of commitment, mostly," she said without a single drop of earnestness. "My therapist says it's a problem."

Yusuke gave a snort at that, but Kurama did not. He just stared at her, a long and steady stare that eventually got Yamato's defiant smirk to fade somewhat. Kurama was looking at her without irony, and to Kuwabara's surprise, Yamato heaved a sigh.

"I have alopecia," she admitted.

"What's that?" Yusuke said.

"It's a skin condition," said Kuwabara.

Everyone looked at him. Yamato in particular appeared shocked, dark eyes wide underneath the low edge of her knit beanie. Kuwabara shuffled in place and jammed his hands deep into the pockets of his coat. Never had been one for the center of attention, especially in a scenario like this. He'd already offended Yamato enough.

"My sister's a beautician," he said when she continued to stare at him. "She's told me about it."

Something in her eyes relaxed a little. "Oh. Well, that explains it." When she crossed her arms over her chest, it made it look like she was in need of a shield, or maybe a bullet-proof vest. "Basically my hair falls out when I'm stressed." Her chin lifted. "And I get the feeling I'm gonna lose what little I've got left if you don't scram and let me pack in peace!"

At once, Kuwabara turned to leave the room, because the feeling of cold distaste radiating from Yamato made his skin crawl so badly, he could've _sworn_ he was experiencing the Tickle Feeling.

A moment later he realized he wasn't mistaken at all, and he froze quite still in place.

"That explains the head scarf from before," Kurama was saying as Kuwabara stood motionless in the doorway. "I was wondering why you refused to…" But Kurama saw the look of embarrassment on Yamato's face and shut the hell up, quick (a fact Kuwabara noted rather distantly, because he was a bit preoccupied just then). Kurama coughed into his fist and said, "Apologies. We'll let you pack."

Yamato heaved a relieved sigh and turned away. When she moved back toward her bed, the source of the Tickle Feeling stayed put, not moving with her at all. The space was tiny, yeah, but Kuwabara's senses were honed enough to know that wherever the feeling was coming from, it wasn't her.

In fact, if he had to pinpoint its location, he'd _swear_ it was coming from her rack of wigs against the wall.

"Yamato," Kurama was saying in a weirdly gentle tone of voice. "Perhaps this is too personal of a question, so forgive my intrusion, but are you under a great deal of stress?"

"I'm a month out from my master's dissertation hearing," she shot back in a voice far less temperate. "What do _you_ think?"

"Asked and answered." Kurama chuckled. "Well. Let's give her space, Yusuke, Kuwabara—Kuwabara?"

At last he'd noticed Kuwabara's frozen stance and gaunt face. Kurama approached with a rustle of feet on carpet and placed a hand on Kuwabara's elbow. Kuwabara barely felt it, just as he'd barely heard the preceding conversation. He was too fixated on the chill running up his spine to want to pay attention. He only snapped out of his trance when Kurama gave his arm the smallest of squeezes, murmuring for Kuwabara to tell his what was wrong. At his request, Kuwabara swallowed and lifted a finger, pointing vaguely into the room.

"So… you all realize this room is totally haunted, right?" he said.

A long silence followed. Kurama and Yusuke exchanged a glance. Yamato paled, purple wig in her hand falling to the bed with a fibrous whisper. Kuwabara ignored them. He ignored them so he could walk to the room's not-so-distant middle and stand in it, turning in place to try and identify the source of the chill running cold fingers up and down his nape. It stayed steady near the wigs, and it tasted ancient. Ancient like the bones of a mountain or the dust from a long-forgotten tomb. Like the rings of a tree too vast to ever chop down and behold with human eyes, spiraling core hidden in darkness and mired flowing sap.

"Haunted?" Yusuke said, shoulders hunching as he warily eyed the room. "You serious?"

"Haunted?" Yamato joined in, but her face had reddened atop its pallor. "_Haunted?_ First demons and now ghosts? What the fuck is happening? But oh, wait, it doesn't matter, because I _already blame all of you_." She leveled a finger at Yusuke. "Seriously, your fiancée shows up in my damn house and now—"

They started bickering. Kuwabara ignored them. So did Kurama, mostly so he could sidle up to Kuwabara and ask in a low voice, "You're certain?"

"Am I ever wrong about this stuff?"

"Point taken."

"—the heck could that be Keiko's fault!?" Yusuke was saying.

"I'm saying that none of this was happening until she showed up!" said Yamato.

"Hey," said Kuwabara, pleadingly. "Can you give me a minute, huh?"

To her credit, Yamato shut up pretty fast, but she still stared at them all with an expression of disbelief mixed with bubbling ire. Kuwabara did his best not to pay her any attention. He wandered in silence through the room, trailing his fingertips over the bed, the small desk on the corner, and the dresser by the bathroom door. None of them made the Tickle Feeling increase, but the minute he got near the bookcase full of wigs on foam display heads, a shiver skated up his back. That feeling he'd gotten before—the one about mountains' bones and sealed crypts—intensified. The more intense it got, the more he was able to tell about it, and by the time he settled in front of the wig stand, he felt it strongly enough to make out some specifics.

The ghost didn't put off a _bad_ feeling. Or at least it wasn't specifically malevolent. He didn't get the sense that the apparition (whatever, whoever, wherever it was) wanted to hurt anyone, Yamato and himself and all his friends included. It felt more like it was… observing. Watching. Taking notes. Like a tiger behind thick glass, looking out at the world with patience and a sense of calm composure too alien for Kuwabara to truly understand.

Another chill skated up his spine.

Bracing himself, Kuwabara pressed a single reluctant fingertip to the edge of the wooden bookcase—but he felt nothing. He traced all the shelves and even the edges of the wigs themselves, and none of them sparked any sort of reaction in his sixth sense. It wasn't until he reached the bottom of the bookcase that he realized why.

The bookcase was sitting on top of something. A little platform about knee-height, covered in a purple cloth. And as soon as he touched the cloth, electricity sparked against his skin.

He got to work immediately, calling over Yusuke to help him move the bookcase to the side without upsetting all of Yamato's many wigs. Underneath the purple cloth he found an old wooden trunk bound with leather straps and leather buckles. Touching it resulted in an even bigger crash of static, one that set a humming in his teeth and placed an ache at the base of his spine.

"So… what're we looking at?" Yusuke asked, staring in consternation at the trunk when Kuwabara didn't say anything.

Yamato swallowed. "It—it belonged to my aunt."

"What's in it?"

She swallowed again. "Just some old things of hers."

"Care to elaborate?" Kurama said.

"Uh… it's hard to explain." She cupped the back of her neck and slipped her other hand into the crook of her elbow. "You might just need to see it."

She was right. If she'd outright told him that the trunk contained five antique Ouija boards, a few curved daggers, beeswax candles, and tons of crystals and dried herbs, Kuwabara probably would've thought she was making a bad joke or something. It was a trunk full of occult paraphernalia, as instantly recognizable as the way the Tickle Feeling rose to a crescendo when he gingerly picked through the jumble, counting the cloths inscribed with runes and crescent moons (four), the jars of unknown powders (six) and a set of jade chopsticks in a glass case (just one, but these gave him the creeps more than even the Ouija boards). The entire lot of it emanated power in warm pulses, ancient and distinct but still subtle—like the hum of a far-off storm buzzing in your teeth.

He wondered what would happen when the thunder rolled.

"Well, that answers that." Yusuke crossed his arms and nodded once, sharply. "What's haunted are the Ouija boards. Definitely, _definitely_ the Ouija boards."

"I'm not so sure," Kuwabara said, eyes locked on the jade chopsticks—but when he moved to touch them, they didn't react to his presence.

It was the small wooden box beneath them that popped like a bottle rocket against his skin.

He didn't particularly want to touch the box, but he did so anyway, carefully lifting it free of the trunk and placing it on the bed. The box was simple and unadorned, held shut by a braided red cord tied in a neat knot. He started to tug the cord away, but the Tickle Feeling rose to a fever pitch when his fingers brushed against its cool crimson length.

"Yamato…" He took a deep breath. "Can you open this?"

From her spot in the room's corner (to which she'd retreated when he started moving things around inside the trunk), she startled and yelped, "Me? Why me?"

Kuwabara started to answer her, but he stopped. He eyed the box, and then he eyed her over, too. Yamato looked normal enough. She had a tan and dark eyes and was pretty (though never as pretty as Yukina; _no one_ was as pretty as Yukina) and in every way ordinary. She wasn't making his Tickle Feeling go off at all.

But when he looked at her, that ancient something that lived in the box on the bed (because that's _exactly_ where it was coming from, Kuwabara now knew) gave a quiet, happy rumble.

"Not sure." He tried to look apologetic. "It just needs to be you. That's all."

Yamato eyed him as expressionlessly as a shark when she said, "That's creepy and I don't like it."

Kurama smothered a laugh behind his hand as Yusuke asked, "Any idea what's inside?"

"I dunno. Like an old hairbrush or something? It's been forever since I looked in that trunk." She shot Kuwabara a pout that would've been comical under other circumstances. "Can't you do it?"

"No." The word came out sharper than he'd intended. More softly he repeated, "No. It needs to be you."

"It's _really creepy_ the way you keep saying that."

"I'm sorry.

He meant that, too. He was sorry about all of this, and to prove it, he gave Yamato a smile of sympathy. For a minute she just looked at him, but soon her head bowed, and she gave a little sigh.

"Well. At least you're sweet about it." She held out a hand, one that shook only the smallest bit. "Give it here."

He did, and the ancient feeling changed a little, shifting from detached and observant to almost warm. That warmth grew as she unknotted the cord and set it aside to lift the box's lid. For a second she hesitated, peering into the box with apprehension writ in every line of her furrowed brow—but then her face relaxed.

"Not a hairbrush," she muttered. "Just a mirror, is all."

And with that, she lifted it into view.

The Tickle Feeling turned into a tidal wave when his eyes connected with the mirror's jade handle and polished brash disc, one it possessed in lieu of glass. Probably because glass (reflective, silver-backed glass, anyway) hadn't been around when the mirror was made. It was old as hell, brass disc cupped in a carved lotus blossom in a style he'd only see in museums and textbooks about Japanese history. Definitely an antique if he'd ever seen one, though he had no idea what time period it could've come from. Maybe he should've paid more attention to history class…

He didn't need history class to know the spirit was definitely inside the mirror, though. He knew it was the source of the tang of ancient power he'd been sensing all night the second the overhead light reflected like a sun in the mirror's polished surface. And apparently Kurama could too, because his face immediately pinched.

"Put it down, Yamato," he intoned. When she obeyed, blotting her hand on her jeans afterward, Kurama said, "Kuwabara, can you draw the spirit out?"

"I can try," Kuwabara said.

He promised to try, rather than to succeed, very much on purpose. Kuwabara wasn't a good exorcist. He had tried a few times to oust angry or vengeful spirits from their nests, but he'd never been too good at it. Too busy fighting to learn many other uses for spirit power. Still, despite his past fuckups and failures, he knew the basics of a standard exorcism, and if his friends asked it of him, he'd try to put that knowledge to good use. A spirit was possessing this mirror, and if forced out of the object, it would have to flee, or at least appear so he could squash it with his power. Simple enough logic, probably? He hoped so, and got to work.

Spiritual energy was kind of like water, in a way: impossible to compress. Two kinds of energy couldn't compress into the same space or occupy the same space; that was almost scientific, when you got down to it. That's why he picked up the mirror (which felt impossibly cold in his hand) and began to channel his power into it, just like he'd channeled his power into scraps of wood back when he first started learning to wield the Spirit Sword. The goal was to fill the mirror up and force the ghost out, to take up all the space and make the ghost flee. Evict it with a new tenant, basically. His plan appeared to be working when he soon felt a node of energy within the mirror, one that reeked of that same ancient power he'd sensed before. It was distant, though, as if miles away instead of inches away down the mirror's length, so he swiftly sent his energy after it, giving chase through the mirror's depths like a dog after a fleeing fox.

But the mirror was surprisingly big, at least on the inside. He'd fed a good bit of his energy into it by the time he realized he'd gotten no closer to the ghost's primeval power at all. It was like the mirror was an ocean instead of a pond, and he only had enough power to fill a pond, or maybe a good-sized lake if he was being generous. There was no end to the places the ghost could flee, which meant Kuwabara's exorcism tactic wasn't going to work.

At that realization, he heard a chuckle. It came from far away, musical and soft, and faded just as quickly as it had appeared—but he'd heard it, and at its sound, he knew his attempts were futile. In fact, something told him that the mirror's seemingly endless depths were the work of the ghost itself; its satisfied laughter said a lot on that subject. And pulling a trick like that meant this ghost was _strong_. Or maybe it was just too subtle, or at least evasive. He hadn't gotten close to it, but he suspected that trying to grasp it would be like trying to grasp an oiled fish underwater with your bare hands.

At that thought, the ghost chuckled again.

Kuwabara withdrew his power and heaved a heavy sigh.

"Sorry. It's in there deep. We'll need Genkai, I'm guessing." He put the mirror back in its box, trying to be gentle (no sense getting on the ghost's bad side, right?). "Wonder how old it is."

"The mirror itself is from the late Heian period of Japanese history." Leave it to Kurama to know his antiques, right? Despite sounding authoritative on the subject, he added, "But the spirit could be older or younger than that, still."

Yamato advanced out of her corner, looking at the mirror with renewed interest. "Think it's worth some money?"

"To the right collector? Undoubtedly."

"Huh. Maybe our little adventure has a silver lining." She started grinning, a look that lit up her face like a lantern on a cold night. "Bet selling this would cover a nice chunk of my tuition!"

A chill ran up Kuwabara's spine; he blurted, "You might not wanna say that again."

One of Yamato's brows rose high.

Kuwabara cupped his hands around his mouth to whisper, "The ghost doesn't like hearing you say that!"

"Well it's been living here rent-free for years, so I don't particularly care what it wants," she retorted. Glaring at the mirror, she said, "First demons, and now this. A ghost? You gotta be shitting me!" She hefted her leg up and gave the box and annoyed kick with her heel. "What the hell was my aunt doing with this thing, anyway?"

Kurama caught her eye and said, "Your aunt—you mentioned her before."

"Oh. Yeah." Yamato lowered her leg bit by bit, staring through narrowed eyes at the floor. "She died and I inherited all her stupid divination crap."

"You mean all the stuff outside?" Yusuke said, staring at the Ouija boards with newfound horror. "And in the box?"

"Every last scrap," Yamato said. "Didn't have to spend a dime to get my fortune telling business off the ground. This was her apartment, too. It's paid off for the next decade." A bitter smile graced her mouth. "Only reason I can afford to go to school."

No one said a word as Yamato's bitter expression deepened into sadness. She dug at the carpet with her toe, arms crossed so she could hold herself, eyes cast down at the mirror in its box. A cloud hung over her head, one Kuwabara felt in his gut rather than saw with his eyes. All at once and out of nowhere, he felt sorry for her. Her baggage about her aunt was obvious, even if he didn't know the specifics of it—but it felt far too awkward and he knew her far too little to offer condolences or sympathy. Something told him Yamato wouldn't appreciate it overmuch, anyway.

Still, he wasn't the kind of person to see someone suffer and say nothing. He stepped forward with a grin, and he made sure to keep smiling when Yamato at last looked up at him.

"We'll get to the bottom of this," he said, pointing a thumb at his chest. "You can trust us, OK? Everything's gonna be fine, you'll see."

"Yeah. We're used to stuff like this." Even though he kept shooting cagey glances the Ouija boards, Yusuke still walked a few steps toward her and smiled. "You're in good hands, so cheer up, OK?"

She didn't reply right away, and when she did, her voice came out thick.

"Thanks." She shut the box with the clap of wood on wood, shaking her head until she could smile again. "So now what?"

Kurama stepped forward. "We'll take the mirror with us in the morning. A certain friend of our will no doubt be able to help discern its origin. In the meantime, we—"

Someone knocked on the apartment's front door.

Yamato grabbed the person nearest to her, which happened to be Kurama, who gave a grunt of surprise at the sudden contact (he wasn't a touchy-feely guy even with his friends, let alone strange women in beanies). She grasped his arms with both hands and just about hid herself behind him, staring past at her bedroom door with panic blazing furnace-fire in her dark eyes. Yusuke and Kuwabara exchanged a nod and stalked out of the bedroom, heading for the front of the flat and the person still knocking on the door. Kurama and Yamato followed more slowly after, because Yamato appeared to be having trouble moving and Kurama was polite enough to shuffle along at her pace instead of, y'know, rushing and stuff.

Not that his courtesy mattered much when the person at the door started calling Yamato's given name.

"Rei-chan? Rei-chan, are you there?" they called in a deep, booming voice. "Rei-chan, it's me! Let me in!"

Yamato Rei(-chan) gasped at the sound of their voice and dropped Kurama's arm like it was a hot poker. Before Kuwabara could react, she had flung herself across the living room and wrenched the door wide open, greeting the hulking figure looming there with a shriek.

"Oh my god, Takeshi!" she said, grabbing his wrist to tug him inside. "What are you doing here?"

"I thought I heard yelling earlier, and a few minutes ago I thought I heard you yelling again," the man said. "Is everything—?"

To Kuwabara, Kurama was little more than a scarlet blur as he streaked forward and shoved Yamato away from the burly man with the gigantic ram horns curling out of his temples. She yelped as she fell on her ass on the floor, and the yelp turned into a scream when Kurama extended a hand and shot a mass of writhing vines from his sleeve at the man (who was, comically, still talking and totally not fast enough to recognize that he was about to get his ass beat). The man went down at once, shape of his body almost lost under the thrashing foliage Kurama was still pumping out.

Eloquently, Yamato scrambled to her feet and screamed, "The FUCK!?"

Kurama didn't move. Vines continued to pour from his sleeve, completely enveloping the horned man on the floor in their twitching bulk. The man struggled and bellowed beneath them, but he wasn't able to break free even the smallest bit. For what must've been the thousandth time in his life, Kuwabara reminded himself not to piss off Kurama. Yamato, however, had not yet learned this lesson, and she threw herself at Kurama without a care.

"What the hell are you doing!?" she shrieked, latching onto his sleeve, but Kurama didn't flinch or move at all. "Dude, what the fuck are you doing to Takeshi!?"

Kurama's eyes slid to her sidelong. "You know this demon?"

"Demon?" She blinked a few times before looking absolutely furious. "Takeshi's my neighbor! He's not a—wait." She looked at Takeshi and back up at Kurama again. "Horns. Right. He's got horns. But who _cares_ about that right now!?" Yamato shook Kurama's arm, not noticing that he wasn't budging even a little bit. "Let him go! Let him—wait, what the hell, _vines_!?" She seemed to have noticed Kurama's powers for the first time, leaping away from him with another frightened shriek. "What the fuck!? Are _you_ doing that!? OH MY GOD—!"

It was kind of terrible to watch, seeing Yamato absorb so much so quickly. Her friend Takeshi was a demon, Kurama was attacking him with plants, Kurama could _freaking control plants_—she had to process each of these things one after another, and Kuwabara wasn't sure she was quite finished by the time she threw herself to the floor at Takeshi's side and started yanking at the vines still swarming his bucking body. Yamato babbled while she did it, too, about how Kurama owed her an explanation but how there also wasn't time for that, because Takeshi needed help and if Kurama did lay the hell of right _now_, she'd shave his stupid, obviously-dyed red hair until he was even balder than she was.

Kuwabara darted to Kurama's side when he heard that particular threat. Fearing what Yamato might endure if she made that threat again (and fearing what would happen if, heaven forbid, she made good on it), he put a hand on his friend's shoulder and said, "C'mon, man! Let him go!"

Kurama bared his teeth. "Kuwabara, he's—"

"I know he's a demon, but look! Yamato's freaking out—they're _friends!_"

Kurama reacted a bit more slowly to that statement than Kuwabara would've liked (perhaps he was still upset about the hair comment), but he at least listened. His arm lowered, and the vines trailing from his sleeve began to retract back into it, creeping back and off of Takeshi's body inch by reluctant inch. It helped that Yamato was tearing the vines away by the handful, and when enough of them retreated, she helped Takeshi sit up while shooting a grateful look at Kuwabara (along with a dirty one at Kurama, and another dirty one at Yusuke, who had basically just stood back and watched everything go down; he was too cool to get involved, or something; Kuwabara wasn't sure).

Takeshi was breathing hard (probably had gotten constricted pretty badly) by the time he emerged from the vines and Kuwabara could get a good look at him. Apart from his enormous ram horns, he looked like a pretty average (albeit tall, broad and muscular) dude. He had blocky features and thick lips and narrow eyes, with a buzz-cut hairstyle and five o'clock shadow, and he wore a pair of striped pajamas and slippers. Not all that intimidating, apart from the horns. Seeing this, Kurama looked a little sheepish, dipping a low bow and murmuring an apology to which Takeshi gave an awkward, seated bow in response.

Yamato just glared, and when Kurama tried to speak, she pointedly turned her face away and scowled.

"I'm so sorry, Takeshi. Tonight's been crazy and you got caught in the middle," she said. "But first thing's first—you're a _demon_?"

"Uh. Yeah." He rubbed the back of his neck. "I am."

Yamato nodded, absorbing this… and then she socked him on the arm with a wordless growl.

"What was that for!?" Takeshi said, clutching the spot she'd punched.

"Why didn't you tell me!?"

"I figured you knew!" He pointed at his head. "You never once questioned the horns!"

"Harajuku, man! I hang out all the time in Harajuku!"

"You thought I was _cosplaying_!?"

"That's a more logical assumption than thinking you're a _real live literal demon!_"

Takeshi looked offended; Yamato looked pissed; Yusuke had started laughing his ass off in the corner, and Kuwabara was trying his hardest not to join in. Yamato's expressions were too exaggerated to not be funny, but Kurama wasn't laughing when he stepped forward and held up a hand to call for silence.

"Pardon me for interrupting, but please," Kurama said. "Who is this man?"

Yamato scrambled up, dragging Takeshi with her. "This is Takeshi, my next door neighbor and frequent client."

"And friend!" Takeshi said.

"Yes, and friend!" She turned her glare in his direction. "Though last time I checked, friends tell friends things about themselves such as the fact that they're demons."

Takeshi's hands flew skyward. "I THOUGHT THAT YOU KNEW!"

"Well, I didn't! When you called yourself a monster, I thought you were being metaphorical, you goober!"

Funny as their banter was, Kuwabara had stopped listening to it. One word she'd spoken had stood out from all the rest, banging around in his head like a kid on a pots-and-pans drum set. He thought about it for a good while, eyes going between Takeshi and Yamato in turns, and soon he cleared his throat and raised his hand to get Yamato's attention.

"Yamato?" he said.

"Yeah?" she said, breaking off from Takeshi for a second. "What's up?"

"So Takeshi is your client?"

"Yeah. What about it?"

"Do… uh… do many of your clients have weird anatomy and whatever?" He put his fingers by his forehead. "Horns and stuff like you described back at Yusuke's place?"

"Oh, sure. Lots of them do." With a grin she waved at the demon standing by her side. "And they were all referred to me by… _oh._" Recognition dawned like the sun on a bright, clear morning. She turned to Takeshi with jaw dropped, eyes wide when she saw the way he was hanging his head and refusing to look at her. "OH."

"Well, damn," Yusuke said, and when Yamato started yelling at Takeshi all over again, Yusuke's laughter began anew.

Kurama, meanwhile covered his face with his hands.

Kuwabara certainly understood why.

As exciting as their lives were, this was too many revelation for a single evening, even by their standards.

**X**

**First name:**** Rei. ****Last name:**** Yamato. ****Occupation:**** Being a dumbass in the face of the supernatural. ****Traits****: Hair loss, a big mouth and attitude for daaaaays. Alopecia is no joke and it's theraputic to write her with this trait, omgggg.**

**More on her aunt, her BFF Takeshi and the ghost in the mirror next time. THANK YOU EPSILON KRONOS FOR YOUR REVIEWS; I AM NOT WORTHY; I DEDICATE THIS CHAPTER TO YOU.**


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 04: Girls Just Want Some Goddamn Coffee**

**X**

That night, Kurama, Yusuke and Kuwabara watched Yamato's apartment in shifts. One slept while one stood vigil, while the third member of the party ventured home to pack a bag. Yamato, exhausted, merely slept through the night (and no one blamed her, although Yusuke did grumble about envying how soundly she snored). Kurama was the last to go home, where he put together a suitcase and showered in preparation for the journey to Genkai's that lay ahead. He replayed the events of the evening as he took a cab to the train station, watching through the windshield as early, rosy fingers of dawn begin to slowly pierce the night's dark sky.

Yamato's friend, Takeshi, had apparently brought many of his demon associates—all recent immigrants from the Makai—to see Yamato ever since her predictions for him had come true with startling accuracy. His friends had all reported similar experiences: eerily precise assessments of their problems, oddly specific evaluation of their mindsets, followed by the provision of perfect solutions that defied logic and odds astronomical in their ability to remedy their woes. Kurama couldn't help but run through the variables in his head, calculating those odds down to the decimal point.

"Takeshi-san," he had asked as they stood in Yamato's living room shortly after Takeshi's arrival (and all the excitement it had entailed). "Were all of your friends seeking counsel on the same subject matter?"

Takeshi's nose scrunched. "Well. No. Not really."

"A lot of them wanted job advice," Yamato piped up. "That, or they just wanted advice on general interpersonal stuff. Most of them were out-of-towners who wanted to—" She blanched. "Oh my god, they're not out-of-towners, they're out-of-_worlders_, aren't they?"

"Well…" Takeshi wheedled.

Yamato covered her face with her hands. "Oh my _god_."

"And what advice were you looking for, Takeshi?" Kurama asked.

"Romance," Takeshi replied, and a gap appeared between Yamato's fingers.

"He had a crush on the girl at the supermarket," she said, voice muffled by her palms. Still, Kurama caught the glint of pride in both her words and her one visible black eye. "They're dating now."

"Because of the guidance you gave me," said Takeshi, beaming.

Yamato shrugged, uncovering her face at last. "I just gave you standard advice anyone should hear in that situation. Be yourself, be honest, and be open-minded. That was less fortune telling than it was giving you solid advice."

"Yeah," Takeshi said, cheeks flushing, "but…"

Takeshi gestured gingerly at his horns. When Yamato just stared at him, he cupped a hand around his mouth and bent to whisper in Yamato's ear. That ear turned pink under the edge of her stocking cap in a moment's time.

"So…" Yamato swallowed. "You took my advice very _literally_, then."

Takeshi mumbled, "She thinks the horns are sexy."

And with that, Kurama understood. "You revealed you're a demon to the object of your affections?"

"And she was into it, apparently," said Kuwabara (who had been standing nearby during this exchange).

"I guess there's a kink for everything," said Yusuke (who had also been standing nearby), and he and Kuwabara began to chortle.

But Yamato was having none of it. She rounded on them both with a glare and snapped, "It's called teratophilia and there's nothing wrong with it; you guys are just kinkshamers." She turned to Takeshi again, glare vanishing in the wake of her smile. "Don't worry, buddy, I get it. I bet she was into _Gargoyles_ as a kid. I bet she liked the Beast best before he turned back into a prince, didn't she?"

"How did you know?" Takeshi asked, awed. "Did you use your powers?"

"No. I just know her type." She waved as if scaring off a buzzing fly. "But enough about that. You mean to tell me that all the people—that all of the _demons_ you brought to me had success following my predictions? _All_ of them?"

"Every last one. That's why so many clients starting knocking on your door," he said. "Word of mouth marketing is the most effective, after all."

Yamato didn't reply. In fact, she looked down at the floor and ambled a handful of paces toward the kitchen. Her shoulders sloped when she put her back to the room, painted fingernails tracing lightly over her nape.

"Well," she eventually said to the floor. "Thanks for the business, I guess. But…" She pivoted on her heel and scowled, hands planting themselves on her hips. "I dunno; it's just hard to believe."

"What is?" Takeshi said.

"That my predictions were coming true." She waved at the ceiling, indicating nothing and everything at once. "Some of them were really general—_most_ of them, actually. I usually count on a lack of specificity to do my dirty-work for me, but… I dunno." Yamato's expression appeared as lost as a traveler in a stark desert. "I never got word of me being super accurate before now. It was all just generalized predictions and telling people what they needed to hear, not actual fortune telling." Her brow furrowed. "But now that I'm thinking of it, business only really got good after you started referring people to me a few years ago."

(Around the same time demons really start immigrating to Human World in earnest, Kurama noted. Could she only predict the futures of demons? He was not certain, and he would keep this theory to himself. At least for the time being.)

Yusuke stepped forward, catching Yamato's eye as he said, "For what it's worth, Keiko said you were dead on the money with her."

"Wait, I _was?_"

"Yeah." He put his hands in his pockets, fidgeting a bit. "You said something about how I go places she can't follow?"

"Yeah, so?" said Yamato.

"So I spend a lot of time in Demon World." He rolled his eyes. "It's not exactly the best place for a romantic getaway."

Yamato blanched, but then she scoffed. "Wow. I'd be impressed with myself if I wasn't so damn freaked out by the fact you visit Demon World for kicks." Yamato apparently had not been told Yusuke was, in fact, a demon himself, and no one tried to correct her as she buried her face in her hands with a low moan. "I'm not doing any of this on purpose!"

"But the fact remains that you are doing it," Kurama said, as gently as he could. "The results speak for themselves."

She hadn't looked at all comforted by that. Kurama had trouble keeping her expression out of his mind as he pored over the details during the night, long after Yamato went to bed and he was left alone in the dark to sleep and keep watch. He was still thinking about said details when his cab pulled up the train station, and he thought about them even as he headed indoors to the terminal and found Yusuke and Kuwabara waiting for him, yawning. The inside of the station was rather austere, with a slew of bolted-down waiting chairs and a large window on the back wall where one could purchase tickets; beside it sat a small coffee kiosk, but the grate was currently pulled down. Employees moved furtively behind it, getting ready for the day to come.

Yusuke and Kuwabara greeted Kurama with a series of mumbles and yawns. Yusuke had his feet propped up on a suitcase of Yamato's, but when Kurama looked around for her, he didn't see her anywhere. In fact, Yusuke and Kuwabara were alone in the terminal apart from the kiosk workers and ticket agent.

"She's on the train platform," Yusuke said when he saw Kurama's questioning look. "Said she needed space."

On either side of the ticket booth and coffee kiosk lay banks of tall windows running the length of the terminal; Kurama leaned to one side until he could see through them, and soon Yamato's form came into view, her figure silhouetted before the train tracks running parallel to the station. She had her back to them and wore a baseball cap in pale blue. Strands of long, dark hair trailed from the bottom of the cap, falling over her shoulders in a black wave. A wig, obviously. Kurama wondered if the color reflected her mood.

"I see," Kurama said. "I won't disturb her, then."

"Smart choice. She's grumpy," Kuwabara muttered. "Said something about needing coffee or she'd unhinge her jaw and swallow someone alive."

Kurama winced. "Evocative imagery."

"I'm just hoping she's not being literal." Yusuke crossed and uncrossed his legs, hitting the top of Yamato's suitcase none too gently. "I've had too many surprises for one night, thanks."

"Yeah." Kuwabara shudder. "And I've never been a fan of snakes."

"I can't say I feel differently," Kurama said just as the grate covering the coffee kiosk ascended with a rattle. He set his duffle bag at Kuwabara's feet. "Would you watch my luggage?"

"Not like we're going anywhere," Yusuke said, and he tucked his chin to his chest and closed his eyes.

Kurama was the kiosk's first customer of the day, given he visited it not ten seconds after it opened. He ordered four cups, black, but with room for cream and sugar in case anyone wanted it (and so as not to embarrass Yusuke, who would no doubt dump at least six sugar packets into his brew when no one was looking). Kuwabara all but chugged his cup, but Kurama did not wait to see if his hunch regarding Yusuke's sugar cravings proved correct. Instead he headed for the terminal doors, following the sidewalk around the building toward the platform beside the tracks.

Yamato didn't hear him approach. She stared out over the tracks without seeing, ballcap shielding her eyes from the glare of the rising sun, lips pursed below a layer of burgundy lipstick. Kurama tried not to speak her name too loudly as he came up beside her, but it was no use: The second the first syllable of her surname passed his lips, Yamato flinched and spun, nearly falling over the suitcase (one of the trio she'd brought with her) in the bargain. When she caught sight of Kurama's face and recognized it, she flinched again, staggering back a step like she'd been struck.

"You scared me," Yamato said in a voice of utter accusation, hand clamping over her heart. "Don't sneak up on a girl like that!"

"Apologies." Kurama held out a cup. "Yusuke said something about a dire need for coffee."

And just like that, all was forgiven. Yamato snatched cup from him with a sigh, although she still found time to glare and mutter, "There better not be cream in this." A sip proved there wasn't, and the glare faded. "Thank you."

"Don't mention it." Coffee delivered, he gave her a nod and walked away. "I'll see you on the train."

"_Wait._"

Kurama stopped. Yamato regarded him with defiance, although what, exactly, she was defying he could not say. But her face appeared pale beneath her makeup, made paler still for the strands of false, dark hair trailing down her chest. She swallowed, throat working as if trying to down a large pill.

"The vines." Yamato wriggled her free hand at him. "What were those?"

"A little trick," Kurama said, "and nothing more."

"_Bullshit_, Red." She continued speaking without pause before he could address her little nickname for him; it was not the first time she'd used it, nor was it the first time he'd noticed its use. Yamato rolled her eyes and said, "You can… what, control plants? How is that even possible?"

Ah. He'd been wondering when someone would be forced to broach this subject on Yamato's behalf. There were so many things Kurama took for granted about the world he occupied. It was not often he had to initiate someone into the ranks of the spiritually aware, and he wondered just how much he could say on this subject without scaring her.

He had a hunch he _knew_ how much he could say, of course. He had pondered how best to introduce one to the concept of the supernatural to a mundane human before, although Yamato had not been the subject of said hypothetical revelation. But now was not the time to contemplate how a certain other woman in Kurama's life would react to such matters, now was it?

"It's possible thanks to my ability to manipulate spiritual energy," he said after a moment's pause.

Yamato pulled a face. "Your ability to who-what-now?"

"Manipulate spiritual energy. All living things possess spiritual energy. By manipulating it using different techniques, one can achieve a range of desired effects." He lifted a hand, fingers rubbing together to illustrate. "For instance, I channel my energy into plants, giving me the ability to manipulate them as I see fit. Yusuke and Kuwabara can use their energy to manifest spiritual weapons."

"Weapons," she repeated uneasy. "Weapons like… a gun?"

Kurama smiled. "Yes."

"That's…" Yamato stared at the concrete beneath their feet, rolling her lips together. "… huh."

She did not appear happy to have learned the truth behind spiritual energy, unease evident in her expression. Try another tactic, then, Kurama thought. He stepped toward her with one hand upraised, smiling a smile he hoped appeared sincere.

"Forgive me if I overstep, but there is no need to be afraid. Not of me, and not of my friends," he said, allowing his smile to deepen when Yamato shot him a look of pure skepticism. "You will no doubt meet many people in the days to come, both humans and demons alike, who can manipulate their energies. Our abilities are like tools. They can be used for good, and they can be used for ill, but they are neither inherently good nor bad. Some are easier to sway in one direction over the other, yes, but…"

She took a deep breath, scowling. "Just don't do any freaky plant shit to me, OK?" she muttered, turning back to face the tracks. "I'd rather not get eaten by a mutant venus flytrap if I can help it." And then she appeared alarmed indeed, desperation in tone and carriage. "_Can you_ make a mutant venus flytrap? Like with teeth and stuff?"

Kurama smiled. "Yes."

Yamato paled. "I wish I hadn't asked."

"Try not to worry," Kurama chided with a chuckle. "I only use plants with teeth on the strongest of my foes." But when Yamato's guard did not go down, he added, "Perhaps this will bring you some comfort. Your powers also likely stem from a manipulation of your spiritual energy. Although it appears to be an unconscious manipulation, and I admit I'm at a loss concerning how you manage to divine the future with accuracy. Your energy reserves are not much more potent than that of an average human, after all."

She blanched. "You can tell?"

"I can _sense_."

"As in, sixth sense?"

Kurama smiled. "Yes."

Her jaw dropped. Closed. Dropped again. "No shit?"

Her continued disbelief gave Kurama pause, though only for a moment. Gently he asked her, "Tell me, Yamato. When you look at me, what do you see?"

She shrugged. "A dude in need of a haircut."

Kurama stared at her. Yamato shrank a bit, fingernails tracing a nervous path down the handle of her suitcase.

"I shield myself with snark," she explained, and then she shrugged again. "I dunno. What do you want me to say? You're a tall, good looking man with really long red hair and green eyes." Here she looked annoyed. "It's like somebody summoned you from a Hallmark holiday display."

"Red hair and green eyes," Kurama repeated. "Are you certain that is what you see?"

"Uh. Yeah? Duh," Yamato said with her usual, flippant snark. "Kinda hard to miss, buddy. But what about it?"

Without a word, he turned around, putting his back to the train tracks. Slowly, incredulously, Yamato copied the motion until they both faced the train station's bank of tall, reflective windows. It was at these windows Kurama stared, their reflections looking back at them like a pair of hazy ghosts. Eventually Yamato had no choice but to follow the direction of his gaze, staring at the windows without understanding—but then she blinked, and blinked again, jaw dropping. She stepped forward with a wordless cry, meeting Kurama's eyes in the glass with disbelief etched into the lines of her face.

But Kurama did not blame her for staring.

After all, his eyes were mahogany in the window's glass, and his hair as black as Yamato's wig.

"Your hair—your eyes—" Yamato said. She looked between Kurama and his warped reflection once, twice, three times. "They're—they don't—"

"Only those with some degree of spiritual awareness can discern the colors you claim to see," Kurama said, taking a strand of scarlet hair between his fingers. "To others, my appearance is much more mundane—like that you see in the window." He searched her face for deception, but he did not find it. "You called me 'Red' shortly after we met. Doubt your powers if you'd like, but you've proven your eyes can see what others miss."

"That's… wow." She finally tore her eyes from the window, but only so she could turn to the tracks once more, hands in her pockets, head bowed, lips pursed. "I feel kind of stupid," she muttered.

"Don't," said Kurama. "All of this is new to you." He tried not to smirk; he mostly succeeded. "And I confess I've been toying with you, just a little."

Her eyes flashed when she looked at him askance. "You _what now?_"

"When Takeshi showed up, I went overboard to see how you might react," he said, gratified when her pricked pride brought some fire back into her eyes. "To see if, perhaps, you had abilities you'd kept hidden from us—or even, perhaps, from yourself."

"Asshole!" Yamato said, slugging his arm (it felt like being punched by a kitten; Kurama tried not to laugh). "I mean, what the fuck!?"

"Desperate times call for desperate measures," Kurama said, his even tone clearly getting under Yamato's agitated skin. "You passed my little test, for what it's worth."

"Oh, good," Yamato snarked. "I'm _ever_ so glad, sensei! Thank you for the _lesson_, sensei!"

Kurama only laughed. "I'll see you on the train." He gave her a nod, which she did not return, pride too affronted to waste time on pleasantries. "Enjoy the coffee."

He walked away satisfied that he'd alleviated at least some of her worries. Kurama had also pricked at her pride, which he had intended from the start. Yamato seemed the type to thrive if given someone to prove wrong, or at least someone onto whom she could direct her ire. If he had to be that person, so be it. The sooner they resolved the mysteries surrounding her, the sooner he could wash his hands of the entire situation.

But Yamato was not keen on letting him go so easily. Kurama had only walked a handful of meters away before her voice rang out, soft yet clear upon the thin morning air.

"You're not human, are you," she said.

It wasn't a question on her part. When he turned back to look at her, he found her staring, eyes distant, as if seeing into a world he could not discern—a fold in space in time privy only to Yamato and her cool grey gaze. Black hair whipped around her face when a wind blew past, but she made no move to comb it from her cheeks. She only stared, hand gripping the handle of her suitcase, other hand hanging loose at her quiet side.

"No," she said. "You're… something else. Not quite one or the other." The slightest tilt to her head, almost imperceptible. "A life begun in one world and continued in the next."

She said nothing more, and her eyes returned to the world in front of them. Yamato combed the hair from her cheeks, pink rushing into her pale skin like a blooming rose.

"Like I said," Kurama murmured. "Your gaze beholds sights unseen."

Yamato swallowed. She turned back toward the tracks, eyes growing distant once again, staring through them and into the bowels of the earth itself. Kurama had to wonder what she saw there, and if, perhaps, she could read her future in the pebbles scattered at her feet.

He did not ask her to elucidate, however.

He returned to the station to wait for their train, instead.

**X**

**We'll actually get Yamato's perspective soon, don't worry.**

**BIG THANKS TO ChildofAsmodeus, Epsilon Kronos, Deus Venenare and a guest for saying nice things about my garbage. This garbage human loves you very much.**


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5: Girls & Ghosts, I Guess**

**X**

After a long train ride to another prefecture, the party consisting of Yusuke, Kurama, Yamato and Kuwabara took a bus into the mountains, destination far from any major cities and deep within the forests of Japan's most rural regions. When the vehicle dropped them at a lonely bus stop at the side of a winding dirt road, they continued down a weed-strewn gravel path on foot. The path terminated at the base of a huge stone staircase, one that extended upward and out of sight along a mountain slope under the canopy of shady trees. Their destination lay at the top, Yusuke said, and there were no escalators (much to Yamato's dissatisfaction). She moaned and groaned at the length of the ordeal, but no more loudly than did Yusuke, who had been forced to help carry one of her suitcases.

"What do you even have in here? Bricks?" he said as they began the low, slow, arduous climb up the stairs to the temple. "It weighs a ton!"

Yamato glared, but she didn't reply. She was too busy lugging her other two suitcases behind her, sweat beading on her forehead below the brim of her baseball cap. The sun beat down like a hammer even through the thick layer of foliage overhead, and when Kurama mildly suggested it was too hot for headgear, she just glared some more and jammed her hat further down her head. She also refused to take off her jacket, even though it was far too hot for such a thing.

Stubborn woman, Kurama thought. Was her vanity truly so great?

Walking some distance behind him, Yusuke muttered to Kuwabara, "Think she's got a wig _and_ a hat on? Talk about hot."

"Nah," Kuwabara said, speaking in a whisper. "The hair is attached to the hem of the hat. I've seen Shizuru style one of those before."

Up ahead on the stairs, Yamato called, "I can _hear you_, you know!"

Kuwabara and Yusuke's gossip session ended after that. Apparently Yamato's ears where quite sharp. Bet even her clear annoyance at their commentary could not dissuade Kuwabara from trying to make friends, and soon he trotted up the stairs to walk beside her—her fourth and final suitcase balanced like it weighed nothing atop his broad shoulder.

"So, Yamato," he said with the breeziest of grins. "You mentioned an aunt last night. You inherited—"

"I _don't_ want to talk about her."

This time, even Kuwabara shrank at the sheer acidity in her voice, and he did not try to speak to her again. In fact, no one said another word until they nearly reached the top of the flight, where Yusuke finally dropped Yamato's suitcase and spun around to face her. She had fallen behind in their climb; Yusuke waited for her to catch up, face an alarming shade of red beneath her cap, before speaking.

"OK, Yamato," he said, crossing his arms over his chest. "Listen up."

"Do I need to take notes?" she said as she came to a stop, huffing and puffing with every word. "Fresh out of paper, I'm afraid."

"Shut up," said Yusuke. A thumb jerked over his shoulder. "This place belongs to Genkai. She's a grouchy old biddy who doesn't take shit from anybody, and she'll pound you into dust if you so much as look at her wrong. We told her all about what's going on with you and she'll probably put you to work the minute you see her. Do what she says when she says it and you _might_ come out of this unscathed."

Mopping her face with her sleeve, Yamato said, "Genkai, was it?"

"Yeah. But that's _Master_ Genkai to you."

"Master Genkai." Yamato grinned. "She sounds awesome."

Yusuke's laugh, a harsh bark of wry mirth, cracked in the quiet mountain air. "You won't be saying that after the snake pit."

Yamato's red face paled. "The who-what-now pit?"

"He's kidding," Kuwabara quickly assured her. "You're kidding, aren't you, Yusuke?"

But Yusuke didn't reply. Suspiciously. And Yamato spent the rest of the climb up the stairs staring daggers at the back of his head. She only stopped once they reached the stairs' zenith, where she gazed instead at the huge red _tori_ arch framing the stone steps. Huge twists of rope hung from it, each trailing white paper tags that hissed on the light breeze. Beyond the arch sprawled the temple itself, myriad gardens and elegant wings spread out before them like a feast. Yamato looked at all of this with undisguised wonder and intrigue—but then someone cleared their throat, and her gaze instead descended to the short figure standing before them in the middle of a flagstone courtyard. She wore a simple red robe, belted at the waist over a pair of white pants and purple shoes. Sharp brown eyes lined with crow's feet regarded Yamato with open skepticism, and soon, faded pink hair floating on the wind like cobweb, she turned to the rest of the group and thrust her nose into the air.

"This her?" said Genkai, with a nod at Yamato.

"You see anyone _else_ who could be the fortune teller I told you about?" snarked Yusuke.

"Watch your mouth, brat." She pointed at Yamato, then held out her hand with palm up. "You. Girl. The mirror."

Yamato blinked. "Eh?"

"Hand it over and follow me."

"Oh. Um." Letting go of her suitcases' handles, she wiped her hands on her pants and stepped forward. "Sure."

Yamato reached into her jacket—the one she had refused to take off before—and removed a small parcel wrapped in a purple scarf from its interior pocket. This she handed over to Genkai, who unwrapped and revealed the antique bronze mirror lying within. No wonder she hadn't wanted to remove the jacket, Kurama thought, but she needn't have bothered going to such pains to keep the mirror safe. Genkai appeared not to care much for the mirror at all. She hardly even glanced at it before turning on her heel and marching swiftly toward the temple, beckoning with one gnarled finger for everyone to follow. Here Yamato shot a look of question at Yusuke, who indicated it was fine for Yamato to abandon her suitcases—which she promptly did, shrugging at last from her denim prison and tossing it atop her suitcase without a care. The pack then followed after Genkai, trailing her into the cool dim of the temple's winding halls until they reached a small room with an iron brazier glowing in the middle of it. Kurama pulled at his collar when the dry heat of the burning coals scorched his face, but nevertheless he entered and sat down upon the hard, tatami-covered floor, followed by a grumbling Yusuke and a groaning Kuwabara.

Yamato got slightly better treatment than the others. Genkai bade her side on a small cushion on the floor, and Genkai sat at Yamato's side without a word. Yamato watched with interest as Genkai pulled a long kiseru from her robe and lit up, perfumed smoke rising in thin clouds toward the ceiling. Soon Genkai set the pipe aside, though, in favor of Yamato's bronze mirror.

"Well, you might be a dimwit," Genkai said with a glance at Kuwabara, "but you weren't wrong about _this_. The mirror is absolutely haunted."

Yamato beamed when she turned over her shoulder to whisper to Yusuke, "I already love her so much."

"Quiet, you." Genkai didn't bother looking at her, eyes fixed on the mirror in her hand. "I'm trying to investigate, since apparently you couldn't be bothered to do it yourselves."

Yamato's grin widened. _"So. Much!"_

Here Genkai ignored her, concentration unbreakable—and soon Kurama felt the whisper of Genkai's energy fill the room, wrapping around the mirror in a subtle cloud. Genkai had always had the most wonderful technique, and he could not help but marvel at her efficiency as she probed the mirror with her power. Eventually her energy receded, and she looked back up at Yamato with a frown.

"This is no ordinary mirror," said Genkai.

"I _know!_" Yamato sang. "I'm told it's _haunted!"_

"You're not nearly as funny as you think you are," said Genkai with a baleful glower. She tapped the mirror with her knuckles, metal ringing. "And this _isn't_ a mirror. It looks like one, but that wasn't its intended purpose when it was forged."

"Dare I even ask?" Kurama murmured.

"It's not creepy, is it?" said Kuwabara.

Genkai shrugged. "Only if you're creeped out by things like phylacteries."

"Phyl-what-trees?" Yusuke said.

Kuwabara whispered, "I think it's a type of math equation."

"I can't even _begin_ to explain how wrong you are," said Genkai, "but I'm in a giving mood, so I'll at least make an attempt to get the truth through your thick skulls."

Yamato practically vibrated in her seat. "Love. Her. So._ Much!_"

Genkai pretended not to hear again, though her mouth twitched just a little.

"In some religions, phylacteries are small boxes that contain holy scriptures," Genkai said. She took a puff on her kiseru, smoke curling around her face in lazy spirals. "In others, they are containers that house the souls of the dead. Whether someone places their soul in the object _willingly_ or not is of little consequence. Souls are bound to their phylacteries until the enchantment binding them together is severed, or until the object is destroyed." She rapped the mirror again, which gave another musical ring. "Given the age of this mirror, it would have been a prized possession in its time; no one would have destroyed it on purpose, and then as it aged, fewer still would dare harm such an antique. Clever. Whoever made this was counting on it lasting through the ages."

"So you think the soul inside the mirror placed his or herself within it willingly?" Kurama surmised.

"Either that or the soul was placed there by someone who wanted it to remain protected indefinitely." Genkai took yet another puff. "And she."

"Beg pardon?"

"The soul is a she." Her eyes slid sideways. "And she would very much like to speak to _you_, girl."

Yamato blinked, one manicured nail rising to tap her chest. "Me?"

"Who _else_ would I be talking to?"

"Sorry, I just—how do I talk to it? To _her_, I mean." She waved at the mirror. "How do I talk to her if she's stuck in…"

Sighing, Genkai set the mirror on her knee. She set her pipe aside, too, and shifted until she and Yamato sat face to face. The brazier cast a warm glow onto both their faces, setting sparks of gold into Yamato's dark irises. Despite her disheveled hair and sweat-slicked face, she looked very nearly pretty—an observation Kurama quickly quashed, and one that lasted for only a moment, anyway.

"Do what I say and don't ask questions," Genkai said.

Yamato fidgeted nervously upon her cushion, saying, "Yes ma'am."

"Close your eyes. Take deep breaths."

"Oh! Like in yoga cla—?"

"This is not like your yoga class and if you say anything like that again, I'll burn that horrible hairpiece you're wearing in front of you, _do you understand?"_

"All right, all right, sheesh!" Yamato shut her eyes. "Back to deep breathing it is, then."

"Good," said Genkai. "Clear your mind. Concentrate on the feeling of air in your throat." She waited for Yamato's breathing to deepen, even out, before continuing. "Now—"

Genkai walked Yamato through a standard meditation regimen, and the girl followed along easily enough. Although Yamato at first exuded a nervous energy, telegraphed and broadcast through her twitching fingertips and the restless movement of her eyes beneath their lids, eventually Kurama sensed her settle into the routine, energy evening out, slowing down, widening like a stream draining into a deep, still lake. Eventually the room sat in silence broken only by the snap of burning coals in the brazier—and the occasional sigh or rustle from Yusuke, who seemed quite bored of the whole affair. Kuwabara, meanwhile, stared in entranced fascination at the scene before him; Kurama felt much the same way, even as Yusuke's eyes began to drift shut. The Spirit Detective's eyes snapped back open again when Genkai grabbed up the mirror and held it a mere inch from Yamato's oblivious face. Her breath cast a fog over her reflection in the mirror's bronze surface, but still, she didn't move. Her face remained still and calm, breathing steady, too deep in the trance woven for her by Genkai to notice the physical world at all.

"Now, Yamato," Genkai said. "Open your eyes."

Yamato obeyed without question. Her reflection in the mirror did, too—but to Kurama's shock, the face in the mirror had ceased to belong to Yamato at all.

**X**

To Yamato Rei, it felt like falling—an endless plunge into deep, dark shadow. But then something jerked and twisted in her brain, and she stopped falling. She found herself standing in a spotlight in the middle of a black void, and before her stood a woman.

She was beautiful, this woman, with hair to her knees like a curtain of fine black silk, with milky skin that had never seen the sun, lips painted cherry red in the center, and eyes as dark as the void in which they stood. These eyes stood out to Rei even more than the woman's aristocratic nose and full lips. These eyes were familiar, and at the sight of them, she found herself quite stupefied. These eyes, she thought, were the same ones she saw in the mirror each morning. Only they were in someone else's face—which meant they somehow had the same eyes—and how the fuck did _that_ work?

Hell if Rei knew. She filed the eye-thing away for future reference and instead looked at the woman's outfit: a white kosode with an uchikake wrapped around the waist, both covered in a subtle pattern of leaping cranes and swimming koi. A necklace of jade magatama beads hung around her long, slender neck, and behind her stood two enormous bronze bells held in wooden stands. A short white vase between them contained a sprig of green branch plucked from a tree Rei didn't recognize. It was all very elaborate and old-fashioned and weird, and Rei had no idea what to make of it at all. But the woman didn't make her wonder for long, because soon her musical voice rang out—rang out in that same, musical tone the mirror had made under Genkai's hand.

"Finally," she said, smiling a smile that made Yamato feel like she had stumbled into company she didn't deserve to keep. "Finally, we meet face to face. Long have I desired to speak to you thus, and at last, my wish has been fulfilled."

"Uh. I guess," said Rei, who wasn't sure if she liked the eagerly affectionate way the woman stared at her. "Who are you?"

"Pardon my manners, Yamato Rei," she said with a laugh, and she dropped to her knee in a reverent bow. "My name is Himiko, and I am your great-great-great-great-great-great grandmother."

For a minute, Rei said nothing.

"My grandmother," she eventually repeated.

"Yes." Himiko settled into _seiza_ and beamed. "Your great-great-great-great-great-_great_ grandmother."

For another minute, Rei said nothing.

Then: "Oh-_kay?_"

Himiko's face fell. "You do not believe me, do you?"

"I… don't know?"

"I suppose there are many things to which you must become accustomed." She gestured to Rei's left, where a red cushion that had _not_ been there before sat upon the dark not-ground. "Please. Sit. We have much to discuss."

Because she had no clue in hell what the fuck else she should be doing, Rei sat, looking furtively at Himiko's trailing sleeves and shimmering silk robe. It was obviously handmade (Yamato knew her way around clothes, for sure) and incredibly elegant. An antique, though it didn't look old. Or did age really matter in this place that was obviously a dream or a hallucination? Eh, whatever. Rei supposed that all that mattered was that she and Himiko had the same eyes, so the bit about Himiko being her grandmother probably made sense? Or something?

"Where to begin," Himiko said with another of her glowing smiles.

"Beats the hell out of me," said Rei.

"We could start with your abilities, if you'd like."

"Uh. OK?" Now Rei was paying attention. "So you know all about them?"

"Yes," said Himiko. "Because I _am_ them."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Tell me, Rei," said Himiko (Rei wasn't sure she liked that Himiko had used her first name without asking, but Himiko kept talking, so Rei couldn't protest). "Have you studied history with any intensity?"

"…some."

"Then perhaps you've heard of me." She leaned toward Rei, the short-cropped sections of hair beside her face brushing her lovely cheekbones. "The ancient shaman Queen Himiko of Yamatai-koku?"

Suddenly Himiko's weird _hime_ haircut made sense, as did her rich clothes and elegance—but these things Rei pushed to the side, because she had a much more pressing query in mind.

"Wait a minute," said Rei. "Am I fucking _royalty_?"

"I don't know; who _are_ you fucking?" said Himiko with good-natured humor.

"That's a Dad Joke, not a great-great-great-great-great-great grandmother joke." Rei cracked a grin, herself. "And it's a dirty one, Himiko!"

Himiko laughed. "Allow an old woman her fun, please."

"Fine. Continue."

Himiko nodded in thanks, saying, "I know about your abilities because I _am_ your abilities. I have the power to divine the future, plumb the past, tangle the threads of fate. Your powers stem from me. I am your constant companion, your silent guide, your unseen shepherd. From the mirror I watch, and from the mirror I guide your Sight."

"So… when I read the fortunes of my clients, it's actually… you?" Rei said, face screwing up in confusion. "Whispering in my ear?"

"In a manner of speaking," said Himiko. "I can commune with one member of my family at a time—a girl, always, one at a time until the mirror changes hands. Whoever possesses the mirror possesses me and the powers I command."

This, of course, led Rei to the following and most obvious next question: If it's passed down through the women in her family, who had it before her? She had a hunch she knew the answer. In fact, she knew in her _bones_ who it was. But she refused to ask, and as Himiko waited in expectant silence, Rei searched desperately for something else to talk about.

"Takeshi said my fortunes have been accurate for him and his friends. His demons friends." Rei looked at Himiko and frowned. "Do you know about demons?"

"Yes, child."

"OK. Good. Also not a child. But OK." A deep breath to center herself. "Why do my predications—uh, _your_ predications?"

"They belong to you," Himiko said firmly. "I merely pull them from the ether at your behest."

"That… doesn't make sense but I'll think about it later," said Rei. "Anyway. Why did my predictions help him and the other demons? I'm assuming they didn't work for the humans that came before the demons, because business only took off once demons became my main source of income."

"Excellent question, but it bears a complicated answer. I believe the demon named Kurama informed you of the existence of spiritual energy. He did not tell you the difference between a soul and a ghost, however."

"There's a _difference_?"

"Yes. A soul is a person's essence, that which comprises who they are. A soul is raw life energy, naked and vulnerable. It is protected by a body, or by a ghost. A ghost is the remnant of a person's self after they become disconnected from their body, whether by death or by another mechanism. A ghost is their preferences and mannerisms, a shell of personality that shields the simple and naked soul from harm. It is made up of spiritual energy, which is not the same thing as the life energy of the soul." She placed one slender hand upon her chest. "I am not a ghost, though personality I do possess. I am a soul, and with neither a body nor a proper ghost to house me, I must use the mirror for protection."

But something didn't quite track, so Rei asked, "Why aren't you a ghost?"

"Because spirit energy, paradoxically, is at least partially produced by the body—specifically the chakras," said Himiko. "I placed my soul within the mirror before I died. The spiritual energy which would have become my ghost stayed with my body before it slipped into death at last, powerless without its soul to continue living. I did not count upon this schism, but with its consequences I must bravely contend."

"OK," said Rei. She supposed that all made sense, but she wasn't entirely sure how it connected to her initial question. "What's this got to do with my powers working for demons?"

Himiko drew herself up. Her head inclined, and her face composed itself into an expression so imperious, Rei wanted to bow her head in deference on sheer reflex. Himiko's already perfect posture grew even stronger, and with a voice like a booming typhoon, she began to speak.

"I have existed within that mirror for centuries," said Himiko. "I have seen the fall of kings and the rise of emperors. I have witnessed the births of thousands and the deaths of even more. I have beheld—"

"Your point?" said Rei.

Himiko deflated, but only the smallest bit. "My point is that I have seen enough to know what a modern battery is," she said. "The well of life energy within a person's soul is not infinite. I cannot draw upon my own power without depleting it, as I have no physical form or ghost that can regenerate my spiritual energy. Regeneration is the duty of the vessels, not the essence." She gestured gracefully toward elsewhere. "But in the presence of a being with energy to spare, I can use _them_ as a battery to fuel the abilities you bear inside you. I channel that energy into you, my child, because you do not have enough energy of your own to fuel your abilities, and I cannot afford to spend what little life energy I have left on paltry matters."

"So whenever I'm around something with more power than a regular human," Rei said, working through it in her head, "I can read their future. Because I'm basically leeching their energy and using it for my own purposes?"

"Indeed." Himiko covered her red-painted mouth with her sleeve; Rei winced, wondering if ghost robes could stain. "Although I find your terms repugnant, I feel I must confess."

"Dually noted," Rei grumbled.

Himiko allowed Rei to sit in silence for a time, thinking and mulling and otherwise figuring out what the hell all of this meant in a practical sense. Talk about an info-dump; it was almost worse than her intro to library sciences class at the start of grad school, because at least that class had made sense and been grounded in, y'know… physical laws and whatnot. But here she was, putting together the idea that she could actually read fortunes. That she had actual powers. All because of this lady who claimed to be her great-great-great-great-great-great grandmother. Because Rei descended from some kind of royalty that probably hadn't left behind an inheritance for her aside from that damn mirror. That was all cool and whatnot, but there were bigger issues at hand than whether or not Himiko had left behind a will.

Looking up, Rei met Himiko's identical black eyes and asked, "Why did those demons try to kidnap me?"

But this time, Himiko didn't launch into a flowery, archaic-speech monologue. She just looked down at her hands, which she demurely folded on her lap like two delicate paper cranes.

"What's _that_ look for?" said Rei.

Himiko hesitated again—but then her chest swelled with a determined inhale, and she spoke.

"The reason… involves Chidori," she said. "Your aunt."

There came a pause.

In a small voice, Rei said, "… oh."

"Yes."

"… great." Her chin dropped nearly to her chest when she muttered, "Another thing I can blame her for."

"My child," said Himiko, voice rich with sympathy. "It is not Chidori's fault that—"

Her chest tightened; Rei snapped, "I _don't_ want to hear it. And I _don't_ want to talk about her." She ignored Himiko's affronted gasp, saying, "I'm just going to assume that _she i_s somehow to blame for this. She got mixed up with demons for whatever reason and now one of them is after me. Is that about right?"

"Yes," said Himiko. "But the details—"

"I don't want to hear them if they have anything to do with her."

Himiko opened her mouth. Probably to argue, if Rei had to guess. But at whatever look she saw on Rei's face (because Rei herself wasn't quite sure what she looked like just then), Himiko' mouth closed. She folded her hands again, bowing her head in a show of what could only be respect.

"Very well," said Himiko, voice the softest of gentle music. "The demon's name is Tutivillus."

"Well _that's_ a stupid name."

"Indeed. But he is not a stupid demon. He was able to capture Chido—" Himiko cut herself off before she could finish saying the name. "I am sorry."

Rei pressed on, ignoring the slip to say, "Is he the reason she disappeared?"

"Yes."

"Got it." Her chin dipped again as she muttered, "That's one mystery solved, at least."

"I can solve more," said Himiko. Her eyes held a plea, a hope, a distant wish. "If you would only let me tell you what I know, I believe your perspective on these matters would change. Your perspective of _her_ would change."

Rei swallowed. "But I don't want it to change."

"Child, you can't mean—"

"I _can_ mean," Rei shot back. Her ire rose like a tide at dawn, currents of anger swift and vicious and cold. "I've spent a long time getting over everything she put me through. Of what she refused to do for me when I needed her the most. I've spent a long time rationalizing all of it, and the conclusions I've come to are that she's a selfish, horrible person who I was better off not knowing."

Himiko's beautiful face fell further still. "Child…"

"Stop calling me that. I'm _not_ your child." She didn't bother apologizing for the snap even when Himiko covered her mouth with her sleeve again, eyes huge and dark and sad above cream-colored silk. "And that woman might be my aunt, but I don't for a second consider her family. So don't spin me some sob story and try to humanize her. Just respect that I don't want to know anything more about her, and know that any attempts to get me to change my mind will be met with open hostility. Got it?"

Himiko nodded, albeit slowly.

"Good." Rei curled her legs under herself, brushing off her lap like she brushed away the crumbs of a bad conversation. "So there's a demon named Tutivillus after me. What else do you know about him? Like why he was after me and my aunt, for instance."

"Sadly, I know precious little," said Himiko. "But Chidori left you everything she possessed. If there are answers, they exist within her inheritance to you."

It was disappointing, but there was nothing to be done. Rei stood up and walked a few paces away, amazed that she didn't plummet into the blackness beneath her feet.

"Then I'll just have to dig up the truth on my own, eventually. Thanks for your help." She wanted to ask Himiko to send her back to reality and away from this weird not-place, but when she turned and saw Himiko with eyes downcast, lovely mouth set in a grieved crescent, the anger in her chest cracked and crumbled. Softly, she said, "Look. I'm sorry for snapping. I just… there's a lot of history here."

"I know," said Himiko, not comforted in the slightest. "I saw it all from within my prison."

"Oh. Well." Damn her soft heart, but Rei actually felt pretty badly for her ancestor all of a sudden. Cursing her inability to be a stone cold bitch, she said, "Will you be here if I want to talk again?"

Finally the smile returned to Himiko's dark eyes. "Always."

"Thank you, Himiko."

"Of course, my child." She course-corrected in a flash. "Alas, _not a child_. Apologies." A pause. "Rei. Your name is Rei."

"Yeah." Rei still wasn't sure if she liked being addressed by her first name by someone she had just met, but this was her great-great-great-great-great-great grandmother, so she let it go. "Can I ask one last thing?"

"Anything," said Himiko, smile widening further still.

Rei took a deep breath before she said, "Did Tutivillus have anything to do with my…?"

"No," Himiko said before Rei could finish speaking. "Your parents were of no concern to him."

Rather than be pissed at the interruption, Rei was just glad that Himiko hadn't made her speak her thoughts aloud, sparing her the necessity of recalling her parents' deaths. Rei was grateful for this, and privately she decided that she liked Himiko, after all.

But all she said in response was, "Good." She shifted from foot to foot. "Well. I'll be back soon. To talk. I guess?"

"Please do," said Himiko at once. "It has been so long since I was able to experience the gift of conversation. But for now, our time together comes to a close." She rose with the same grace as falling snow. "It is high time I sent you back."

"OK. See you soon?"

"Stars willing." Himiko lifted her hands, but before she did anything else, she said, "Oh, but Rei?"

"Yes?" said Rei.

Himiko's black eyes glittered.

"Be wary of foxes," she said, "for they are clever and full of pretty words."

A shiver skated up Yamato's spine at the sound of these dire words, but before she could ask what her grandmother meant, the room rippled. Himiko vanished. Darkness pulled back like a curtain wrenched aside on opening night, and Yamato found herself blinking at her own reflection in a gleaming bronze mirror—but no, not her reflection. The eyes were the same, but the face was different, older, more elegant and beautiful—and then she blinked, and Yamato's reflection belonged to her again.

"Whoa. Whoa!" she said, scrambling back off of her seat across the floor. "What the heck was that?"

"I dunno," Yusuke said, "but it was sure as shit freaky."

"You talked in your voice, and then there was this face in the mirror," Kuwabara babbled, "but it wasn't yours—"

"—and when it talked, the words came out of _your_ mouth," Yusuke said. He leaned toward her to dramatically whisper, _"In a completely different voice!_"

"I'm tellin' ya, it was freaky," Kuwabara said with a shiver.

"Wow. Wooow. Wild." Rei rubbed at her temples, conscious of her hat-wig as it ground against her overheated skin. "Bit of spectral ventriloquism, huh? Or was I possessed? Don't tell me I was possessed!" Breath hissed through her teeth. "Ouch."

"What's wrong?" said Genkai.

"Head hurts." She shot the old woman a glare. "I think you just pried my third eye open with a goddamn crowbar."

"Perhaps," Genkai said after the briefest of dry chuckles. "It's wide enough for now, at least." Lifting her pipe to her mouth, Genkai regarded Rei in contemplative silence. "So you're a descendant of Himiko. That explains it, I suppose."

"You know who she is?" Rei asked.

"In a sense. Historians have debated whether the great shamaness Himiko, queen of Yamatai-koku, actually existed or is simply a figure of legend. It's a hotly debated piece of Japanese history, in fact." Her wizened mouth turned up at the corners, just a little. "To think her ghost would be the one to clear it all up…"

Rei gasped when Genkai rose to her feet, quick as a striking snake. The woman was older than dirt, by the looks of her, but she moved like lightning and was out of the room in, like, two seconds. It was all Rei could do to stare after her in astonishment, barely able to string two words together in response.

Eventually she gathered her wits enough, however, to blurt out, "Where are you going?"

"To do research, dolt," said Genkai from down the hall (damn, she moved quick!). "I suggest you come with me and do the same."

It was tough to argue, so Rei scrambled up and ran after her, circling back to grab the mirror off the floor at the last second. She'd learned quite a bit in the last five minutes (or however long she'd been in that trance), but it didn't look like Genkai was going to give her much time to adjust. Still, if Genkai wanted Rei to do effective research, there was something Rei would need to do first.

"Before we do that," she said when she caught up to Genkai in the hallway, "I need to make a call."

"To whom?" Genkai asked.

"Takeshi. He needs to send me something. Can I get your mailing address?" She paused. "Do you even get mail here, anyway?"

"We manage." Stopping cold, Genkai reached into her robe and drew forth a paper and pen, prompting Rei to wonder what Genkai kept in there. As Genkai scribbled down the address, she asked Rei, "What are you going to ask him to send?"

"A box."

"What's in the box?"

"Stuff n' things," said Rei with a shrug.

"How very _specific_."

Genkai looked unamused at Rei's vague description, giving her a moment's pause. Eventually, though, she heaved a sigh. Keeping this on the down-low wasn't going to be easy, so she might as well just admit the truth.

"It's a box of my aunt's," she said, and just then, a set of feet pounded down the hall behind her. She turned to find Kuwabara and Yusuke, Kurama trailing them at a distance, coming to a stop a few feet away.

"Like, does the box have more fortune telling stuff?" Kuwabara said, looking confused. "You already showed us a trunk full of it."

"It's not _that_ stuff," she said, turning her back on him and hoping that this would act as a clear enough sign that she wasn't interested in talking about this. "It's papers. Books. A few journals I never had the heart to read."

"So what's the deal with this aunt of yours, anyway?" said Yusuke, not picking up on the hint. "Back in the city, you said—"

"OK." She wheeled around again, teeth grit. "Because I can sense this will become a whole big _thing_ if I'm all vague and mysterious about it, I'll say this _only exactly once_. So pay attention."

Genkai's brows shot up. Yusuke looked peeved. Kuwabara wore an apologetic expression, and Kurama—well, he sported that same polite expression he always did. The one Rei found exceedingly difficult to read, even if he looked damn pretty doing it. She ignored them all and took a deep breath, waiting for utter silence before launching into what she hoped would be the one and only time she ever admitted any of this annoying garbage out loud again.

"My parents died when I was 11 and my aunt had the option of taking me in, but instead she chose to turn me over to the state and disappear and I never heard from her again until I was about 18 and a lawyer called to tell me she'd died and left me everything she owned," she said in one gigantic rush. "That's how I got that apartment, all paid up from now until the apocalypse, and it's where I got everything I needed to start up my fortune telling business, aside from the eyeliner and my acting abilities, which are all mine." She flapped a hand in dismissal and sighed, rolling her eyes so hard, it's a wonder she didn't wind up concussed. "It's a boo-hoo, standard tragic-orphan-origin-story with just a few more Ouija boards than usual, and I'm _not interested_ in rehashing the past any more than I need to. Clearly my aunt was into some weird shit and I'll likely have to talk more about her in the coming days, but fuck if I'm actually looking forward to it. I know nothing about her that could shed light on all the supernatural crap surrounding me, and that's why I need that fucking box of paperwork." She looked at each of them one by one, daring them to say even a _single goddammn word_. None of them took her up on it, though. "OK, everybody? Make sense? We cool here?" She didn't wait for them to reply, spinning to march off down the hall. "Cool. Thanks for coming to my TED Talk. Now where's your fucking phone, Genkai?"

Yusuke snickered.

"It's in the other direction," Genkai said.

Without a word, Rei spun back the other way and stalked down the length corridor to call Takeshi—and she made sure to stomp on Yusuke's smartass foot along the way.

**X**

**BIG HOKIN' GRATITUDE aimed toward tasty dumpling **_**PumpkinEmpanada**_**, toasty sweetheart **_**ovennfresh**_**, generous benefactor **_**studentloans**_** and the makes-my-pulse-pound **_**Zayren**__**Heart**_** for being such darling reviewers! Where the heck did all you new readers come from? Here's hoping my revamped story summary draws new folks into Rei's crazy life!**

**I joined Tumblr if you wanna interact or something? Username is OddMawd and my account is as ghostly as Himiko at this point.**

**(Also all the crap I said about Himiko is indeed based on hotly debated, supposedly historical stuff, which is… fun? IDK but I hope you liked it!)**


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6: Homework Sucks but You Still Gotta Do It**

**X**

Kurama had occupied the uninterrupted quiet of Genkai's kitchen for some time before the door swung open. He looked up as Keiko walked in carrying a corkboard under one arm and a stack of notecards in the other. She grinned as their eyes met, apology writ across her face when she spotted his work laptop and the papers spread across the table.

"Hello, Kurama." Keiko pointed at the corkboard. "Mind if I join?"

"Hello, Keiko," he replied, "and not at all." When no one else accompanied her into the room, Kurama asked, "Does Yusuke know you're here? I think he went off to spar with Kuwabara, but I can—"

"Oh, it's fine. He met me at the bus stop when Botan and I arrived." Keiko set the board on the table, sitting down across from him with a huff. Her clothes were rumpled; Kurama suspected she had not arrived at the temple very long ago at all. "Yusuke said Yamato made a call back home and then went with Genkai to do some research, I think. How is she faring? I haven't been able to stop thinking about her since the incident."

"She's well enough, although this has all taken some adjustment on her part. But she seems the resilient sort, at least."

"That's good to hear." Fiddling with the stack of note cards, Keiko stared at the table and smiled—a wistful smile, distant but warm. "I know I certainly had an adjustment period when Yusuke first told me everything. Hopefully she'll be fine; I have a good feeling about her." Keiko's eyes flickered to his face; her expression morphed, confusion taking the place of nostalgia. "What are you smiling about, Kurama?"

"Your kindness," he said, admission as smooth as it was honest. "Ever since I've known you, you've been unfailingly kind." He offered her a genuine smile, one he did not often wear. "You have every right to be upset that Yamato's troubles have distracted Yusuke from your wedding day, but instead you show a stranger care and sympathy. It's admirable."

"Oh, stop it!" Keiko's face flushed, one hand waving in pleased dismissal. "I just know how she feels, that's all. I'm doing what anyone would do in my position."

But as Keiko began to spread out her notecards atop her corkboard, pinning them in place with thumbtacks, Kurama reflected that he wasn't so sure just anyone could mimic Keiko's unfailing and unbreakable sense of empathy. Ever since he had met her through Yusuke, he had quietly appreciated her ability to wrangle Yusuke at his most volatile, not to mention her acceptance of even the most colorful characters in Yusuke's life. He'd witnessed her ability to adapt time and time again—and now, it surfaced once more. He just hoped he spoke the truth when he said the boisterous and irreverent Yamato possessed a resilient spirit, and that Keiko's good feeling was likewise correct about her.

"Anyway." Keiko rapped her stack of cards on the tabletop, staring at the cork board with a frown. "What are _you_ working on?"

"Some work spreadsheets I had intended to compile before the wedding," said Kurama. "There were a few things I needed to finish up in order to take time away with a clean conscience. I thought I'd get them done this week before traveling here, but… alas. I'm almost finished, however."

Keiko gave a sage nod. "This was all pretty unexpected, huh?"

"Indeed," Kurama said. "Though we're almost lucky Yamato's issues cropped up when they did. Kuwabara was out of school for spring break, and with the wedding so close, I had already taken off a few days. Extending my vacation was a simple matter."

Her frown deepened. "I wish I could say the same of this seating arrangement…"

Kurama craned his neck; sure enough, the cards she'd pinned to the board bore the names of their friends and family, all positioned around circular pieces of paper meant to represent tables. Even upside down, he knew precisely what he was looking at—because he had had a hand in crafting the original seating arrangement in the first place. Keiko hadn't been sure of any demonic politics to avoid when she first began her seating charts, and when she asked for guidance, he'd been more than happy to spend a few hours dispensing advice about any potential land mines she'd be wise to avoid. But why would she redo the seating chart now?

"May I ask why you are redoing it?" he inquired—mostly out of curiosity, but also out of the mildest of offence.

"Well," said Keiko, "I have to put Yamato _somewhere_ on Saturday, all things considered."

And thus, Kurama understood. "Right," he said. "In all the excitement, it slipped my mind the wedding is so close."

"Same, if we're being honest. And that's saying something, considering it's been practically the only thing on my mind for months now." Keiko heaved a sigh, staring forlornly at her board. "It shouldn't be hard to fit her in since you refuse to bring a plus-one, Kurama, but… do you think she'd be more comfortable with the fun demons? I've been calling their table the Rowdy Table, but I have some vanilla human friends attending, and she might prefer…"

There Keiko went, being unfailingly considerate and empathetic again. Smiling, Kurama returned to his spreadsheets while she reorganized the seating chart. They talked occasionally as they each went about their business, but Keiko knew better than to chatter. She let Kurama work mostly in peace, until the door swung open again to admit Yusuke and Kuwabara into the austere, old-fashioned kitchen. Kuwabara had to duck beneath the bundles of herbs Genkai had hung from the rafters to dry; Yusuke just swatted them aside as he approached Keiko, reaching over her shoulder to jostle her name cards with a devious grin on his face. She swatted him in retaliation, and he ruffled her long hair in revenge. It was a cute scene, their affection for one another evident in their wordless repartee. Kurama couldn't keep from smiling at the sight. They were a perfect match—and he wasn't the only one who thought so.

"A destination wedding? How wonderful!" Shiori had said when Kurama told her he'd be travelling to attend Yusuke and Keiko's rather remote ceremony. His mother had been giddy to hear about their engagement, and she tried to keep the sly look off her face when she asked, "Do you think Keiko has any friends you'd like to keep you company while you're there? Or maybe you already have someone in mind to be your date?"

He'd only smiled at her, although tiredly. "Mother…"

"Oh, don't give me that look," she said, pretending to be cross. "I just worry about you, in the city all alone!"

She'd let the subject drop after that, but only for a little while. In the days leading up to the wedding, Shiori had asked more than once if he planned on bringing a date, and she'd smothered a disappointed sigh every time he told her no. Kurama hated disappointing his mother, as he did every time he arrived at a family gathering without a girlfriend on his arm, but he knew his empty romantic life was for the best. It would be far too complicated to pursue romance given the secrets he kept from his human family. If he dated a human, he couldn't he honest about his demonic past, because he did not trust that a human partner wouldn't let the details of said past slip to Shiori—and obviously he couldn't keep his partner away from his mother for very long. Dating a demon presented similar issues, as he would not feel comfortable bringing a demonic mate around his human family. Asking any partner to lie on his behalf or act as anything besides their authentic self was neither right nor honorable. Kurama, therefore, felt content to simply stay single, much to his mother's chagrin. It was better that way, Kurama thought. He had made the decision long before, and it was not one he felt willing to change.

As Yusuke went to the antique refrigerator to pour himself a glass of ice water, the door to the kitchen once more opened, admitting Genkai first and an extremely tired-looking Yamato second. Kurama watched from the corner of his eye as the latter flopped into a chair with a moan, head falling into her hands with the smack of flesh upon flesh.

"Someone feed her," Genkai commanded. "Her stomach's growling so loudly, I can't concentrate on research."

"So… hungry!" Yamato moaned into her palms. On cue, her stomach gave a mighty rumble, and she slipped further down into her seat. "Getting… weaker…!"

"Save the dramatics for someone who cares." Genkai spun on her heel and marched out, voice muffled as the door fell shut. "I'll be out back if anyone needs me. But try _not_ to need me. Too many visitors already, and the wedding isn't even here…"

As her voice faded down the hallway, Yusuke began to cook, his chef's instincts taking over automatically. Soon a bowl of somewhat unconventional ramen sat before Yamato; she snatched up the chopsticks Yusuke brought her and practically inhaled the first mouthful, yelping as the hot broth hit her tongue.

She wore a bright pink wig, Kurama noticed. He wasn't sure when she'd had a chance to change it. He was sure it suited her better than her former hat, however.

"So did you learn anything more about your ancestor, Yamato?" Kuwabara asked, sitting beside her at the table.

She shrugged, noodles trailing from her mouth. "Ish."

"Ancestor?" said Keiko.

"Oh, right, Keiko!" Kuwabara smacked his forehead. "Yamato, do you want to explain, or…?"

She slurped up her noodles, readying another bite before the first was even finished. "Be my guest."

Clearly she just wanted to eat, so it fell to Kuwabara to tell Keiko about Himiko, whom they had witnessed speak to Yamato through the reflection of the strange, antique mirror that housed the ancient queen's powerful spirit. They had heard the entire conversation between Yamato and her ancestor, apart from a few whispered words at the end that had eluded even Kurama's sharp hearing. But Kuwabara knew enough to recount the facts without errors, and when he finished, Yamato pushed her bowl away from herself with a sigh. She'd eaten every scrap of food, hunger at last sated.

"Genkai has a nice little library, even if it's a disorganized wreck," she said. "We were able to find records of a legendary shaman queen in one of her books, plus some additional details Himiko didn't tell me herself."

"Details like what?" said Keiko.

"Mostly just more context. Queen Himiko of Yamatai-koku lived in the Heian period in Japanese history and was known in both Japan and parts of China. Scholars are divided as to whether she's a historical figure or just a fairy tale, owing mostly to her reputation as a powerful sorceress and shaman. They actually call it the 'Yamatai Controversy' and say it's the single greatest debate regarding the ancient history of Japan." Here Yamato's lips quirked, a mischievous glint lighting her black eyes. "Now we know she's real, but historical documents only tell us so much about her. Did learn about her symbols, though."

"Symbols?" Kuwabara said.

"Yeah." She tapped her temple with a finger. "When I saw her in my head, there was a vase with a tree branch in it standing right behind her. Apparently her symbol was the sakaki tree, which explains a lot."

"And the demon she mentioned?" Kurama said. "The one that associated in some capacity with your aunt?"

"Yeah, the one with the funny name!" said Yusuke. "Did ya learn any more about him?"

The light in Yamato's eyes faded. "Tuttivilus," she muttered darkly. "Yes, we did. But we only found his name in some Catholic texts."

"Catholic texts?" Kurama repeated, interest piqued. "As in the Bible?"

"No—supplementary stuff," said Yamato. "Apparently Catholic monks used to think Tuttivilus was a minion of Satan in charge of inflicting Biblical transcribers with writer's block."

"What the _hell?_" said Yusuke, face screwing up. "That's so random!"

"That's exactly what I said." Yamato rolled her eyes. "Clearly he was just using that name to be funny or something. I doubt he's actually a minion of Satan." She shot Yusuke a narrow-eyed glare. "Or is there something else you'd like to tell me about the supernatural world, huh?"

Yusuke grinned and winked. Yamato paled—but then he giggled, and she threw her chopsticks at him, not enjoying being the butt of a joke.

"So what you're really saying is that you've got zero leads," Yusuke said as he dodged the flying flatware.

"Must we put it so bluntly, Yusuke?" she said with yet another glower.

"Oh, that's a yes." His grin widened. "Thought so."

"You might be a good cook, but you _suck_ as a cheerleader."

"I look terrible with pom-poms, anyway."

"Sure you do. But I wouldn't say I have no leads, though." Yamato stood and carried her bowl to the sink, rinsing it out under a jet of cold water. "Takeshi is bringing over that box I told you guys about—the one of my aunt's things? It'll get here tomorrow, and it'll have something useful, I'm sure of it."

"You've really never read any of what your aunt left to you?" Kuwabara asked after a brief hesitation.

"No." She spoke sharply, but then she sighed, some of the fight leaking from her tense shoulders. "Didn't seem worth the heartache. I thought I'd put everything about her behind me…" She shut the water off with a jab of her hand. "And yet, here I am, digging up the past all over again."

She sounded profoundly regretful about this, speaking more to herself than to anyone in the room. Based on her professed history, Kurama could understand her emotions. He, too, knew the pain of a past dredged from the confines of forgotten history. He'd never say as much to Yamato, however. It was not his business.

But Yusuke seemed to feel differently, because he said, "Honestly? Not all that surprised, that the past didn't stay buried. Sometimes you just gotta be dead for the truth to come out."

Yamato looked over her shoulder, brow arched high. "And how would you know that?"

"Well, it's what brought Keiko and me together, isn't it?" said Yusuke. "I saw her at my funeral and it really got me to see the light."

Yamato froze. "Your funeral?"

"Yeah." He shrugged. "Just something I figured out back when I was a ghost, I guess."

"Back when you were a_ who-what-now?_"

"A ghost." He shrugged again. "Like, I was dead and stuff. _You _know."

But Yamato did not know. She turned around without a word, staring at Yusuke from beneath the fringe of her ridiculous, pastel pink wig, eyes unsettlingly intense in their all-black depth. Yusuke fidgeted under her deadpan stare, ears flushing beneath the heft of scrutiny.

"What!?" he eventually snapped. "I got better!"

"You got _better?_" she said, strangled voice rising an octave.

"Yeah, so?"

"So… so OK. OK! _Wow,_ OK?" Yamato cycled through a blitzing cycle of disbelief, skepticism, disbelief, and then grudging acceptance. "We are _definitely_ going to have to circle back around to that at some point, so put a very concerned pin in that for now and tell me more about seeing Keiko at your funeral and how apparently it was some sorta meet-cute?"

"Nah, it wasn't like that," said Yusuke. "Keiko and I met when we were little kids. And then when I was 14, I got hit by a car, and at my funeral she—"

Yusuke told a wide-eyed Yamato the short version of the story of his death and reincarnation, followed by the tale of how he fought demons for Spirit World as their chosen Spirit Detective. She stared at him in both horror and fascination while he spoke, eventually sliding back into her chair at the kitchen table. Her head slid into her hands shortly after Yusuke finished speaking, bright purple nails clashing brilliantly with her synthetic hair.

"You people," Yamato muttered. "Just when I think I've got a handle on you, the surprises keep on coming."

"Wait'll you hear about Yusuke being part demon!" Kuwabara brightly said.

Her head jerked up. "Yusuke is part who-what-now!?"

Of course, they then had to tell Yamato _that_ story, namely how Yusuke had inherited demonic powers thanks to the genetics of his ancestor, Raizen. Kurama sat back and watched in amusement at the next round of Yamato's reactions, which included more staring, head-in-hands disbelief, and groaned protests at these unimaginable events—a reaction Yusuke clearly relished, judging by the grin on his face.

"Why me?" Yamato moaned when Yusuke was through. "Why me all the time?"

"There is a silver lining to all of this," Kurama said, taking pity on her. "You might say Yusuke knows precisely where you're coming from, in terms of having a powerful ancestor and a supernatural origin."

"_Or_ you could just say that Yusuke's a big, giant weirdo," Kuwabara helpfully clarified.

Yamato eyed Kuwabara over. "And you. Are _you_ some kind of demon descendant or something?"

"Nah. Just a regular old psychic human!"

"A regular psychic human, he says. Like that's a perfectly reasonable, non-paradoxical statement, he says." Once more, Yamato buried her face in her hands. "God, this whole day has been a trip and a half. Clearly I just stumbled into an ant pile. You have this whole history, world, context that I have to uncover piece by piece, and it's… it's disorienting."

"Yes, it's quite a shock, when you first hear about it." Keiko giggled, reaching over to pat Yamato's shoulder. "I had to take a long time to adjust, and I didn't even have a magical ancestor to come to terms with."

"Unlike some people," said Yamato, shooting a glare at Yusuke through her fingers.

"You'll be fine, Yamato," Keiko firmly said. "You're already making jokes; it took me ages to get to that stage. And try not to worry." She held up her corkboard and pointed at a table near the bottom right. "I think I've decided to seat you near my college friends. They're all typical humans with no powers to speak of, which should very comforting after what you've been through."

Yamato lifted her face from her hands. "Wait, sorry—what's this about seating?"

"Oh, right," said Keiko. "Well, you see, I'm having to redo my seating chart. It was tough at first, but I think I've finally cracked it, no harm done at all."

Yamato just stared at her. "But… _why_ are you having to redo a seating chart?"

"To make room for you, of course."

"Make room for me _where_?"

"At a table," said Keiko.

"At a table where?"

"At the wedding. On Saturday."

"At the wedding," Yamato repeated.

"… yes?"

"On Saturday."

"Yes."

"As in, the wedding on _this _Saturday?"

"Yes."

"As in," said Yamato, her numbed patience finally cracking, "today is Monday, so you're talking about a wedding that is on the Saturday that will currently take place five days from now?"

"Yes," said Keiko, gently. "That's how calendars work, I think."

"Keiko—" Yamato swallowed, face the color of old milk. "Am I… coming to your wedding?"

Keiko smiled. "Well, it would be rude not to invite you since you're staying here, at the wedding venue…"

Yamato bolted to her feet. "THIS IS YOUR WEDDING VENUE?"

"Oh, dear." Keiko tittered. "Did we not think to mention this to her?"

"Oh my god. _Oh my god._ I'm going to your wedding. I, a complete and utter stranger, am attending the party meant to celebrate the _happiest day of your life_." Yamato had begun to pace up and down the length of the kitchen, old boards creaking under her feet with every frantic step. "I'm crashing your wedding, me, A TOTAL UNKNOWN!" Turning to Keiko in horror, she said, "Oh my god, Keiko, I am so, so, so, so sorry—"

"Oh, Yamato, please!" Keiko protested. "It's no big deal at all!"

"Yes it is! It IS a big deal!" Yamato shot back. "I'm a _nobody_! A _stranger_! A stranger who could have _terrible table manners_ and totally embarrass you in front of all your beloved friends and family! I am an unknown variable in the calculation that is your big day, and the potential for complete chaos is completely—"

"Calm down!" Yusuke barked. "It's really not a big deal!"

"It's true, Yamato," Kurama said, trying to sound soothing (and trying to keep the amusement off his face). "We deal with situations like this all the time."

"You deal with wedding crashing former fake fortune tellers all the time?" she said with deadpan sarcasm. "How often do you people get married? And meet fake fortune tellers who are actually real ones who are being pursued by weird Catholic demons who kill people's aunts and want to eat the aforementioned fake fortune tellers' eyeballs?"

"Well, when you put it like that…" grumbled Kuwabara.

"You see!?" Yamato shook her head and paced again, hands thrown up in consternation. "No. Nope. _No_. Nuh-uh. This is _not_ OK, and I—" Yamato rounded on Keiko, pointing at her with one steady finger. "I'll make it up to you."

"You will?" Keiko said.

"Yes. I will. By being your fixer."

"My _what?"_

"Your fixer," said Yamato. "If you have a problem, I will fix it. Because I am your fixer. Different from a maid of honor or bridesmaid, because they care about you and the people you love. But me, a stranger?" Her chest puffed with pride. "I don't give a _crap_ about you, or them!"

"That's not reassuring!"

"Au contraire, Keiko," Yamato said, wagging her finger. "Let's say you learn that a friend of yours has been badmouthing you, or that your great grandma Bertha is horrified she wasn't invited and says she'll cut you out of the will if you don't let her attend."

"But I don't have a great grandma—"

"_The point," _Yamato cut in, "is that I don't give a damn about either of these hypothetical people, so if you need to un-invite them or have any other awkward conversations about great-grandma's racist upbringing, I'm your girl." While Yusuke smothered a snicker with his hand, Yamato counted on her fingers, cataloging scenarios for Keiko's benefit. "Gotta fire the florist? Let the fixer do it. Need to tell a high school ex you haven't seen in years to fuck off? I'm your girl, baby! Need to bury the body of that high school ex if they don't get the message that they're an asshole and you snap and wind up with a corpse on your hands? Just hand your fixer a shovel, chickadee, because this is YOUR DAY, and I am going to make sure it's as smooth as a baby's unblemished ass cheeks by the time you say 'I do.'"

Keiko stared at her, mouth agape, for a moment's time.

Then she closed her mouth, swallowed, and admitted, "That… actually sounds pretty great."

Yamato beamed. She marched up to Keiko and took her hands in hers, staring earnestly into Keiko's (suddenly awkward) eyes.

"I will earn my place at your wedding, Keiko," Yamato declared. "I make you the sincere and solemn promise that I will."

Yusuke loosed a cackle. "Well. I'm convinced!" he said. "Think she could tell Genkai that she smells like old people? Because that's a conversation I'd love—"

"That woman hits like a freight train, so no—I would do _anything_ for Keiko, but I will not do _that_." Yamato ignored Yusuke as he sputtered, turning back to Keiko to say, "Anything else, though, and I'm game. I'll help with _anything_ you need_; anything at all_." She searched Keiko's face, sincerity apparent upon her own. "Ya feel me?"

"I feel you," said Keiko with equal sincerity. "But for tonight, you're off the hook. The prep work begins in earnest tomorrow, so rest easy for the time being, OK?"

"OK. Whatever you say. _Literally_. Whatever you say, I'm there." Yamato grinned. "But that's good timing, because to be honest, I actually have some homework to do."

Yusuke pulled a face. "Homework?"

"Be back in a jiffy!"

She left the room without another word, not waiting for any follow up questions before exiting the kitchen. When she returned only a few minutes later, she carried with her a suitcase, which she lay upon the floor and unzipped with a twist of her well-manicured hand.

"This is my book suitcase," she said, flipping open the lid to reveal rows upon rows of books and binders. "The others were for clothes and wigs, but this is all books."

Yusuke glared. "Isn't that the one you made me carry?"

"Hmm? What? Did I?" Yamato pulled a few volumes into her arms. "I don't remember."

"You ass. So _that's_ why it felt like you were lugging around a bunch of bricks." Yusuke stuck out his tongue. "Only worse, because these bricks are nerdy."

Yamato just laughed. "Never leave home without good reading material, as I always say."

Kuwabara eyed one of the thicker volumes in her luggage. "The History of Literary Organizational Practices?" he said, quoting the writing on its cover. "You consider _that_ good reading material?"

"That," she said, grabbing that book, too, "is my homework. Homework sucks, but you've still gotta do it."

"Oh, right. You said you were in college," Kuwabara said. "But aren't you a little old for college? Most people go right out of high school, and you've gotta be our age, at least."

Rising, Yamato deposited her books on the table. "How old are you?" she asked.

"27."

"I'm actually older than that. I'm 28." She tossed her sakura-petal hair, grinning. "But I don't think anyone's too old to be getting their master's degree."

"Your _master's_?" Kuwabara said.

"Yup. I'm a grad student in library sciences. I was just speaking offhand when I said I was in college yesterday."

Yusuke coughed into his fist. "Nerd alert!"

"Oh, shut up!" Keiko said, swatting his arm.

Comparatively speaking, Kuwabara took this news in better stride. "Library sciences, huh?" he said. "That's… not what I'd have guessed you'd study, I guess. You don't exactly…"

Yamato tossed her hair again. Pointedly.

"What—I don't look the part? Act the part?" she said. "What, a librarian can't have pink hair and offer to bury a new bride's bodies?"

"I mean, I normally picture a pencil skirt and glasses," Yusuke said. "And a bun. And a blouse. Heels, maybe…" He grinned, a faraway look in his eyes. "Kinda shy, but secretly a freak…"

"I was gonna ask when was the last time you set foot in a library," Yamato muttered, "but judging by that description, the only librarian you've ever laid eyes on was in a porno."

"You're not wrong!"

She laughed when Keiko swatted Yusuke again, not at all bothered by his crude humor—graceful under pressure, not easily flapped. Joking after learning she shared a table with demons and the formerly deceased. Kurama might just have been right when he said she was the resilient sort.

"As for whether or not library work suits me… What can I say? I'm surprising like that." Yamato winked. "Gotta keep people on their toes, right?"

Not bothering to wait for an answer, Yamato began to organize her books on the table. While several of them wore stickers claiming them as library property, quite a few bore tattered edges and dog-eared pages, marking them as Yamato's personal property. The subjects weren't exactly leisurely, either, and Kurama wondered if a reassessment of his opinion of her was in order. He wouldn't have suspected someone so crass, flashy and flamboyant to study such dry subjects, but Yamato was true to her word in the sense that she came full of surprises.

"It's certainly an interesting choice of study," he found himself saying. When she glanced his way, he asked, "What piqued your interest in the vocation?"

She looked away quickly. "Just spent a lot of time around books as a kid, is all. Anyway." A clear change of subject if Kurama had ever seen one; she took a deep breath before saying, "Is this interrogation over, or do I need to go find a quieter place to study?"

Even when he'd been in school, Yusuke had been loath to study; it was no wonder he left the kitchen in short order, dragging Kuwabara with him so they could continue to spar outside. Keiko followed, leaving Yamato and Kurama to work on their respective projects in silence. Yamato didn't bother with small talk, swiftly slipping into one of her books with a pad of paper open on the table at her elbow. She occasionally jotted down notes and highlighted passages in her book, but aside from the scratch of her pen, she worked in silence. A far cry from her frenetic pacing and rapid-fire speech from before. Kurama, mostly finished with his work, couldn't help but glance at her on occasion as he placed the final numbers and quotes into his spreadsheet. It was interesting to see her so composed and serene. A different side to her, one he hadn't at all suspected lay beneath the surface. It continued even when she sighed and shut her book, rubbing her eyes as she set it aside and lifted a different tome off of the table. Yamato removed its dust jacket before Kurama could make out the title, and before she could settle into and get lost in this new text, he cleared his throat.

"Is that more homework, or are you reading for pleasure?" he asked.

"The latter," she said without looking up. She held the book aloft so he could see the spine, eyes still locked on the page. "Malcolm Gladwell's latest."

"I'm passingly familiar with his work. Nonfiction?"

"Yeah. Translated from English, though; my English is good, but it's not _that_ good. I don't actually read much fiction at all these days." One knee curled up toward her chest, arm looping tight around it. "Seems a waste to read about fantasy when reality has so much to offer… as I have become all too uncomfortably aware of in the past 24 hours." Finally she looked at him, dark eyes distant with wry humor and reluctant contemplation. "Maybe I should read some fantasy, get genre savvy about supernatural bullshit before shit really hits the fan…"

"Perhaps you're right to stay in the realm of reporting," Kurama said. "The truth, after all, is often much stranger than… well. You know the phrase."

"Indeed I do. All too well, in fact." Yamato shook her head, a sardonic laugh slipping from her mouth. "Demons, ghosts, ancient spirits, legit fortune telling… it's a lot to take in."

"You'll manage." Strangely, he rather meant it when he said, "Of that, I have no doubt."

But Yamato was still skeptical. "What, can _you_ see the future now?"

"Not quite. But I consider myself a good judge of character." A smile tugged his mouth. "You may be somewhat prone to dramatics—"

"Somewhat?" She looked offended, but not for the reason he thought. "Nah, honey, you can be real with me. My high school theater resume makes it clear I am a drama _queen_."

"Yes. You are." This, too, he meant with utmost sincerity. "But despite that, you don't seem like the type to break under pressure lightly. After what you told us of your past…"

Her eyes hardened; the humored lilt vanished from her voice. "Don't give me that pitying look," she said, a note of warning coloring her words. "Because I neither need it nor want it."

"Then it's a good thing I wouldn't dream of pitying you," Kurama said, fighting back a smile. "You might throw that wig at me."

That got a laugh out of her, as he'd intended. "Smart man. This wig is dangerous. But anyway." Fiddling with the edge of her book, Yamato murmured, "I suppose all of my bullshit seems pretty mundane compared to what you've been through."

It wasn't a question, although she'd almost phrased it as such. It was a statement, one that placed an edge of stone into Kurama's affectation—because after what she'd said of his past back at the train station, he was not sure how far her knowledge went. He did not like not knowing. But he was not the type to merely wonder.

"How much do you know about me?" he asked, cutting directly to the chase.

She paused a moment, thinking. Eventually she murmured, "Only what I said at the train tracks. You've lived more lives than this one. And I…" Yamato shrugged; her eyes darted up to his, meeting them with unabashed curiosity. "I don't think you've always been human."

Kurama swallowed. "Did Himiko tell you that?"

Yamato frowned. "Maybe? I don't really know how it all works yet. She said it's her power, but my predictions. Or something?" Yamato shook her head. "Point is, you've got this sense of… _otherness_ about you. One that Kuwabara, and even Yusuke, lack." She attempted a joke, smile sly. "Maybe it's the hair changing colors or something. I dunno. Enlighten me?"

Kurama said nothing. For a time, Yamato waited in silence, looking at him with clear expectation written upon her face—but then she blinked, and that expectation vanished. Understanding took its place in the blink of an eye.

"You don't have to tell me anything" she blurted, closing her book around her fingertip. "I think I took for granted that you know all about me, and that you'd share in return. Obviously you're not obligated to do that. Sorry for being nosey." She opened her book again, holding it in front of her face. "This is me, butting out. Enjoy whatever you're doing on that laptop. Thanks for letting me study in peace and waiting for an opening to strike up conversation." The book lowered just enough for her to look at him, eyes glittering with embarrassment. "You're, ah. Sharp. And considerate. It's appreciated." The book rose; Yamato vanished behind it. "I'm gonna read now. Thanks."

Silence fell like darkness at dusk, thick and comforting and heavy. Kurama watched Yamato as her book slowly lowered, the woman sinking into her reading and forgetting her self-consciousness as the text transported her elsewhere in space in time. Eventually she seemed to forget about Kurama entirely. It was only then that Kurama went back to his work, tinkering with the spreadsheet he'd created until every cell was filled. His mind ran along other tracks, however, barely paying attention to his work at all. It was only when Yamato put down her book and got a glass of water that he finally snapped back to himself, watching as she held the glass to her neck beside the sink, rolling its cool contours against her skin.

Soon, he spoke.

"My human name is Minamino Shuichi," said Kurama. "I was a fox demon before I was Shuichi. I suppose I still am a demon, in all the ways that matter."

Yamato's hand lowered, glass clattering against the counter. "A fox demon?" she repeated, without turning around.

"Yes," Kurama said. "I was a thief, obsessed with stealing the most coveted of treasures—and at this I excelled."

Here she turned, at last—and her eyes held fascination, as Kurama suspected they would. She leaned back against the counter, studying him, arms crossed tight over her chest.

"But as word of my exploits spread, so too did my ego. And my hubris earned me death." At her gasp of shock, he held up a hand. "But before I expired, I cast my spirit from my body and ventured to Human World, where I entered a human embryo before it could acquire a proper soul. I was reborn to human parents and raised by them as such."

The considered this a minute. "So the name Kurama…"

"Was my name in another life."

"OK." She considered this, too, head bobbing in an absent nod. "So a fox demon then, and a human body now. What does that make you today, in practical terms?"

He smiled. "I'm still finding that out, I'm afraid."

"Cryptic. I can respect that." Yamato's preoccupied nod deepened into one of gratitude. "Thank you for trusting me with all of this."

"Don't misunderstand. Yusuke and the others know all of what I've told you, and no doubt they would tell you the truth if you asked it of them." He chuckled, eyes briefly falling shut. "I suppose I'd simply rather you hear it from me than them, is all."

Yamato blanched. "Way to make a girl feel special and then rip the rug right out from underneath her, Kurama."

"Apologies. I find it best to speak plainly, when I can." He hoped his smile might offer some consolation. "It's something of a paradox, but often in plain truth exists a beauty most ornate."

Yamato didn't reply for a moment.

Then, softly, she said: "Pretty words, fox boy."

"Beg pardon?"

"Nothing. Nothing at all." Shoving away from the counter, Yamato crossed the kitchen and slid her books off the table, sweeping them into her arms and then into her suitcase. "I'm just beat and clearly need to get to bed. You have a nice night, OK?"

He stood up on reflex before he could think to refrain. "Do you need any help—?"

"No," she said, too quickly. "I've got it." Her suitcase's zipper hissed like an unsettled snake; she refused to look at him, but an uncharacteristic darkness had fallen in her black eyes, one he did not understand. "Thanks."

Without another word, Yamato pulled her suitcase upright and tugged the luggage into the hallway and out of sight. Kurama sank into his chair as the suitcase's wheels rolled down the corridor, listening as Yamato headed in one direction before backtracking, the woman momentarily lost in the temple's maze of hallways. Eventually she found her way, however, and Kurama listened with too-sharp ears as her bedroom door opened and shut behind her.

Only after she retired did he gather his things, leave the kitchen, and turn out the light—bathing the room in shadows that echoed the darkness flickering in Yamato's unsettled and wary eyes.

**X**

**WUT UP, FRIENDOS, IT'S ME, YA BOI. Well actually I'm a chick but whatever, I'm just so fucking happy that you are enjoying this so far. You are all magnanimous golden toasters and I love Zayren Heart, Lady Skynet, SilverThornz, SterlingBee, Damaged Forest Spirit and a guest for reviewing and MAKING MY GODDAMN DAY.**

**I AIN'T DONE THO. Yo but for serious, Lady Milk-tea reviewed all five previous chapters and I nearly died of delight. YOU NEARLY MURDERED ME, LADY MILK-TEA. ARE YOU HAPPY? (I know I sure as shit am!)**

**Gonna try updating weekly if I can. I'm back on my bullshit and no one can stop me.**


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7: "Training and Teacups"**

**X**

As far as rooms obtained during periods of extreme duress were concerned, Rei's quarters at Genkai's temple compound in the boonies were pretty nice, probably.

Not that she was an expert at such matters; Rei had never been on the run from demons before, and certainly not from ones determined to eat her eyeballs. Did people on the run from demons typically wind up housed in a lovely Shinto temple far from civilization, or was she unique in that regard? She wasn't sure, although she had to suspect she was. Her current predicament seemed, at least to her, quite unique indeed.

Anyway. Enough about that. Rei distracted herself from the indignity of the situation by analyzing her living arrangements. Genkai had shown her to her room shortly after Rei's first encounter with the enigmatic Himiko. The room lay behind a sliding paper door—the fancy kind Rei had only once seen in an old-fashioned tea room—and comprised a good number of tatami mats. The room contained no furniture besides an antique dresser, but a door along the far wall opened onto a small courtyard complete with a raked sand garden, trickling fountain and one of those bamboo deer-scare thingies Rei couldn't recall the name of. A shishi komoshi? A shiki oboshi? Rei supposed it hardly mattered, and as she listened to it tap sharply against a rock with a boisterous "doink" noise, she resolved to tear it to pieces as soon as possible. It might've been pretty and fancy or whatever, but damned if Rei would let it keep her up at night.

But despite her creative alterations to Genkai's landscaping, Rei still had a hard time sleeping that night. Sure, her futon's thick down mattress was comfy as hell, and sure, her pillow was perfectly fluffy, and yeah, the spring breeze drifting in from the garden's open door felt great on her face… but she couldn't stop thinking about the redhead, who was apparently a fox.

_A_ _fox!_ Rei thought as she tossed and turned. A fox whose words were as pretty as his face. Obviously Himiko's cryptic warning applied to him specifically. And Himiko could see the future, so she clearly knew what she was talking about. But Kurama seemed nice, and he'd been so helpful thus far. Was Himiko right about him? Could Rei not chance trusting him the way she wanted to? The way she wanted to trust everyone at the temple in the mountains.

Rei fell asleep thinking these thoughts and listening to the wind stir the sakura tree outside her room, body sinking deeper and deeper into her futon (_so fluffy!_) with every slow, relaxing breath. Soon her mind danced with dreams, and even from within their depths, Rei knew this was some of the best rest she'd had in a long while.

Pity she couldn't sleep in the next day and, y'know… enjoy it?

Genkai came for her in the morning like a whirlwind and forced Rei to dress, bleary-eyed and bellicose, and join Genkai on a many-miled run through the woods surrounding the temple. Rei, as it's probably obvious, hated every last damn second of the experience save for the moment they emerged from the woods and beheld the temple. _An end is in sight!_ Rei thought… but then Genkai dragged her back into the woods and shoved her, fully dressed, under a very cold waterfall (a pretty one she would've loved to look at under other circumstances) and commanded her to meditate.

Needless to say, it sucked ass—especially because Genkai made her take her wig off beforehand.

Genkai had the decency not to say anything about Rei's hair (or lack thereof). All she did was shoot a quick look at Rei's patchy scalp, eyes betraying not even a sliver of emotion. But still, Genkai saw Rei's head, and the shame and anger at this indignity kept Rei somewhat warm as she shivered beneath the roaring waterfall. More people had seen her naked head in two days than in the past two years combined, and she was not happy about it. Rei did consider herself lucky that Genkai had allowed her to pencil on her eyebrows that morning before they'd embarked on their run, not to mention that she'd thought to draw her brows in waterproof pencil.

Things could've been worse, she told herself as her teeth chattered and her freezing back began to ache like the pain of childbirth. Thanks to her quick eyebrow work, Rei had only had to suffer one indignity that morning (or two, if you counted that she hadn't had time to put on her usual false eyelashes).

Still… Rei wasn't the forgiving sort, and when Genkai snapped at her to focus, she pinned the old lady with a glare as hot as the waterfall was cold.

"I t-take it all b-b-back," Rei said through her chattering teeth. "You're n-not the c-c-coolest ever. Y-your temple s-sucks. Running s-sucks. This w-w-waterfall s-sucks. _Everything sucks!"_

Genkai, perched on a nearby rock smoking her pipe, didn't bother to look in Rei's direction. In fact, she kept her eyes shut when she snarked, "Your energy would be better-spent on concentrating than on hating me."

_"You s-s-s-s-s-s-su-SUCK!"_

"I heard you the first time. I might be old, but my hearing is excellent." One eye opened just a crack. "Now let's test yours."

"… f-fine."

"I said test your _ears_, not your _mouth_." When Rei didn't speak after a minute or two, Genkai continued on. "Now concentrate on the cold. On the way it tightens the muscles. The way it settles deep in your bones. Take hold of that feeling, Yamato. Take hold of the cold."

Rei grit her teeth. "T-t-trying."

"Do you have it?" Genkai said, after giving Rei a moment to collect herself.

"M-maybe?" said Rei, unsure.

And she wasn't the only one. "Maybe's not good enough," Genkai barked. "Have it or don't. There is no 'maybe.'"

"F-f-fine, _Yoda_," Rei snapped back. And because she was sick and tired of this and just wanted it to be over, she told Genkai a lie: "I have it."

Genkai, if she doubted Rei, didn't say so aloud. She just said, "Now push it out of you. Take it and force it out of your skin. Make room for warmth again."

Rei, to her credit, tried. She tried her very best, dammit, to channel Genkai's nonsense and do as the old woman asked. But she only felt cold as she sat under the roaring water, the leaden temperature turning her muscles to lead and her brain to a foggy, pained lump half a foot above her shoulders.

_How could anyone feel anything when they were so damn cold?_ she wondered, and soon she shook so hard from chill, her limbs almost convulsed.

Genkai took pity on her eventually (very eventually; reprieve could not come soon enough for Rei). After at least two hours beneath the cold and unfeeling waterfall, Genkai allowed Rei to exit the roaring water and lay upon a nearby boulder in the sunshine to warm herself—and she even allowed Rei to put her wig back on. Rei thought this meant Genkai must feel sorry for her indeed, and about that, she wasn't entirely wrong. She pretended not to notice the way the old lady stared at her as she lay upon her rock, sunshine coaxing feeling back into her fingers and toes. She pretended not to notice, and she felt relieved when at last Genkai stopped studying her and looked away.

"Why the waterfall, anyway?" Rei grumbled, massaging her limbs to chafe warmth back into them. "What's the point?"

Genkai blew a plume of smoke from between her wizened lips, tobacco scent rich upon the air. "Tell me how you feel, Yamato."

"Well, kinda like garbage, if I'm behind honest." And she was; she hoped Genkai felt at least a little sorry about it. "I ache from the run and my feet hurt and I'm cold as hell and stiff—"

Genkai jabbed at Rei with her pipe. "That's the point. The ache. The chill. You're aware of your body in a way you weren't before because it's hurting in ways you're not used to. Like you've exercised a muscle that normally stays dormant."

"OK…?"

"Spirit energy, despite its name, is produced by a combination of the body and the soul," said Genkai. She puffed on her pipe for a moment, silent. "Learn to control the body, to feel the way it reacts and moves, and you become one step closer to accessing the spirit."

"So it's like… push to your limits and you find the energy within?"

"Yes." Genkai frowned. "Did someone explain this to you already?"

"Nah," said Rei with a grin. "I've just seen a lot of kung-fu movies."

"This isn't a movie, kid. Demons are after you."

"What, you think I _forgot_ that little detail?" said Rei most testily, but Genkai only shook her head.

"At least try and take this seriously," she said (or commanded, if Rei wanted to get technical about it). "If we can learn to access your spirit energy, you can use it to sense things around you." When Rei looked wholly disinterested by this idea, Genkai leaned toward her to stress, "Things like sources of _energy_, for instance."

And at last Rei understood. "Like demons!" she said, pieces clicking into place. "So I could sense the ones coming after me. And maybe get some warning, next time they try eating my eyeballs."

Genkai smirked. "Now you're getting it."

"But do you think this will help me tell fortunes better?" Rei pressed. "Or on purpose, at least?"

"It could," said Genkai after a moment's pause. "But then again, what do I know? It's not like I tune into _The Fountain of Aura_ every weekday afternoon."

"Me neither." Rei stuck out her tongue. "Too hokey."

"And dressing up like an eastern European mystic when you tell fortunes _isn't?_"

"Ouch, Genkai. Aim for my metaphorical balls next time, why dontcha."

"Hmmph. Maybe later." Genkai hopped off her rock with far more dexterity than a little old lady should've been capable of—or so Rei would've thought if she hadn't seen Genkai run for miles without breaking a sweat only a few hours prior. Tapping ash from the bowl of her pipe before stowing it in her robes, Genkai said, "For now, though, we should head back."

"Thank god," Rei groaned.

"Don't celebrate yet," said Genkai. "You have a visitor."

Rei's heart leapt into her mouth at the sound of Genkai's creaky words, for a split second thinking her eyeball-eating villains had showed up to spirit her away or something, but she needn't have worried. Instead, a very familiar figure stood in the temple's front courtyard, and upon seeing him, Rei let out a cry of delight.

"Oh my god,_ Takeshi!_"

"Rei-chan!" said the aforementioned Takeshi as he spun around to face her—but when he saw Rei standing behind him, clothes soaked through to the skin, he did a double-take. "What the? Why are you all wet?"

She jerked a thumb at Genkai. "Old lady is nuts, that's why."

Takeshi followed her thumb and looked at Genkai—and then he did another double-take, almost dropping the large cardboard box clutched tightly in his arms. Hastily he dumped the box into Rei's hands, ignoring her as she gave an indignant squawk. He was too busy bowing at Genkai, fully doubled over in submission, to pay Rei any special attention.

"My name is Kazuki Takeshi and I am a legal demonic immigrant here of my own volition!" he babbled, voice high with nerves. "I have never harmed a human being and only wish to live a peaceful—"

But Genkai just scoffed. "Save it, demon boy; I'm retired." The crone tucked her hands behind her back as she walked away, chuckling under her breath. "To think even after all this time, demons still remember me…"

"… oh." He straightened up, watching her walk away uncertainly. "Oh, OK. Good. Good?" When Genkai didn't turn around and, like, attack him (or whatever he'd clearly been expecting), his shoulders sagged with outright relief. Sighing, Takeshi clutched at his heart and murmured, "Because when Rei-chan told me who she was with, for a minute I thought I might be walking right into an ambush!"

Rei grunted and set the box on the ground, but only so she could put her hands on her hips. "You ever gonna tell me how you knew her name?" she asked, one toe tapping impatiently at the flagstones below.

The previous night, Rei had called Takeshi from the landline on a table in Genkai's… office, probably? She wasn't sure what to call it, but it held a huge wooden desk, lots of bookshelves, and at least seventeen videogame systems hooked up to an assortment of flat screen TVs. While Genkai watched Rei like a hawk, Rei had called Takeshi, who had listened to her request with his typical good cheer—only when she told him where to go and who owned the temple where she'd be staying for the next week or two, he got really cagey, fast.

"G-Genkai?" he'd said, voice trembling unsteadily through the phone's static-fogged connection. "Are you _sure_ that's her name?"

"Uh. Yeah?" She looked to Genkai for confirmation, who nodded. "Yes, I'm sure her name is Genkai. Why?"

"_No-reason-I'll-see-you-tomorrow-OK-bye!"_

He spoke so fast and hung up so swiftly, the dial tone sounded almost in unison with his final word. Rei had returned the phone to its cradle with jaw dropped, half wondering if he's even bother to show up the following day.

But back in the present, there he was, staring off after Genkai and looking a little pale, wringing his hands so hard it looked like he wanted to break his own fingers (an idea at which Rei thought, _ouchies_). Whatever his problem with Genkai was, he clearly took it very seriously… but then again, he'd babbled something about being a legal demonic immigrant when he saw Genkai, and that sounded pretty freakin' serious in Rei's book.

She nudged him with her elbow when he didn't reply right away. He jumped a little, but then he shook his head.

"Well, um… can we not talk about it here?" he muttered.

"Oh. Um. Sure," said Rei. "Think you can stay for lunch?"

He shot the temple a worried look. "I'd better not."

"But you came all this way!" Rei protested. "You're going to head back _tonight_? That's a long trip to take in a day."

"Oh, I won't be going home!" he said, a smile scattering some of the clouds in his eyes. "Rikako came out with me. We're staying at a really romantic inn and going sightseeing tomorrow."

"Aw, that's nice!" said Rei, meaning it. Looping her arm through Takeshi's, she led him back toward the stairs descending into the woods and toward the highway beyond. "Well, let's not keep her waiting. At least let me walk you back to the gate."

That suited Takeshi just fine. He chattered as they strolled down the steps, but as soon as they got a decent ways away, he shut up. Face darkening, Takeshi looked left, then right, eyes roving restlessly across the trees. Shadows cast by the leafy canopy overhead dappled his face with pips of dark, eyes glimmering in the fitful light.

"They treating you OK back there?" he said.

Rei frowned. "Yeah, sure. They're taking good care of me. Why?"

"You've, uh." Rubbing the back of his neck, Takeshi confessed, "You've fallen in with a pretty interesting crowd. And I'm not just talking about Genkai."

"OK, enough with the secrecy. Spill." Pulling her arm free of his, she stooped on the stairs to glare up at her friend, fists back on her hips in defiance. "How do you know about her, anyway? No more avoiding the question, you hear me?"

Takeshi nodded in defeat, although he still hesitated before saying, "She's… kind of a boogeyman to demons. Or at least she _was_. She was the powerful human psychic all demons who came to Human World knew to fear. A revered mystic and renowned spiritualist with fists of fury." Takeshi gulped. "Genkai, the demon slayer."

His words—almost reverent, definitely full of fear—rendered Rei momentarily speechless (not an easy feat). Eventually she gathered her wits enough to say, "Wow. She really _is_ a badass." Shaking herself, because idolizing someone Takeshi thought was scary seemed shitty, she added, "So that's why you were freaking out? I don't blame you."

"Yeah." Takeshi drew in a deep breath. "Took a lot of willpower to come up here, to be honest." He smiled, although some tension remained around his eyes. "But you're all human, so you don't have anything to fear from her. It's the others you'll need to worry about."

One of Rei's penciled-on eyebrows lifted. "The others?"

_Both_ of Takeshi's brows shot up. "They haven't told you?"

"Told me what?"

Takeshi gaped at her a minute, but he eventually recovered, running a hand over his soft brown hair. "Um… Urameshi Yusuke. Kuwabara Kazuma. The legendary bandit Kurama. Not to mention some of their friends in Demon World. They all have… a reputation," he said, choosing each word with care. "And it's even bigger than Genkai's."

"The legendary bandit… Kurama?" Rei blinked, slotting this new information into place alongside everything else she'd learned (and there was a _lot_ to process). "Wait. You know Kurama?"

"Not many demons _don't_ know Kurama," said Takeshi, "or Urameshi, or even Kuwabara, for that matter."

"Oh. Wow." Rei grabbed the front of her wig and tugged, settling it back into place on her scalp (although it hadn't been out of place before then, revealing the origin of this gesture as a nervous tick). "Sorry if I look a little shell-shocked. You didn't say anything about them the night they showed up, so I'm just trying to figure out why you're only telling me this now."

"Hey, give me some credit!" Takeshi protested, offended. "They didn't say their full names. 'Kurama' is what stuck in my head, and then I put 'Yusuke' and 'Kuwabara' together with it a little while later. It's not like I've ever seen them in person!"

That made sense, Rei supposed, but only in the same strange way nothing made sense anymore. Still, she nodded and adjusted her wig again. Putting on a brave face and just rolling with these increasingly ridiculous punches (_So ridiculous!_ Rei thought) was getting easier, albeit too slowly for her tastes.

"So what's this big reputation of theirs?" she asked eventually. "I mean, I knew they had to be _somebody_ considering they saved me from the jaws of death the way they did, but…"

Takeshi averted his eyes. "You're gonna have to ask them. Specifically Yusuke."

"Yusuke?" Rei repeated. "Mister 'I-Haven't-Set-Foot-in-a-Library-Except-in-Porn' _Yusuke_?"

"I… don't know what that means," Takeshi said, looking the teensiest bit horrified. "But yeah. Him." He hesitated, but soon admitted: "I don't think I'm allowed to go speaking for him."

"_Allowed?_" Rei said, incredulously repeating him again. "What do you mean, _allowed?_"

Takeshi threw up his hands. "Just talk to him, all right?" he said, heatedly this time, and Rei knew better than to argue. She demurred with hands upraised, backing away a pace upon the temple steps.

"OK, OK!" she said. "Sheesh. Don't bite my head off!"

He winced and apologized, though she told him he didn't need to (and she actually meant it; Rei knew what it felt like to have your life trotted out for others to gawk at without your permission, and she would not subject anyone else to that ordeal if she could help it). Looping her arm back through Takeshi's, she resumed their walk down the stairs, companionable silence falling between them as they strolled beneath the canopy overhead.

"Rei-chan," Takeshi said after a minute or so. Offering her a smile and patting her hand, Takeshi promised, "It'll be all right. In fact, you're lucky you ran into them when you did. If anyone can help you, it's gotta be them."

But Rai wasn't convinced, head hanging as heavily as the weight that had gathered in her chest. "Was it luck, though?" she murmured—and Takeshi heard her, although she hadn't quite meant for him to.

"What do you mean?" he asked. "What else would it be?"

Rei shrugged. "If these people are as important as you're hinting they are, what're the odds that I ran into them when I did? Them, out of everyone in Tokyo, and right when I needed them, too?"

For a minute, Takeshi said nothing.

Then: "Good question."

They walked the rest of the way to the highway in silence, birds chirping and the wind in the trees the only soundtrack to their trek. Rei kept her eyes down, cast on the leaf-strewn stone they traversed together. She had a hunch that meeting Kurama and the others hadn't been entirely coincidental. She wasn't sure why she had that hunch, but she did, and that was that. But if it hadn't been a gigantic coincidence to run into people who could help her, what was the alternative? Who had pulled the strings that had brought them together, in the end?

Rei didn't know.

But she had another hunch (another hunch that felt more like certainty than speculation) that a certain ancient spirit living inside a certain ancient mirror might have some idea.

Soon Rei and Takeshi reached the very bottom of the steps, where a car sat parked on a gravel shoulder to the left of the asphalt road. The road overlooked a cliff, a valley spilling green and glorious into the distance below. More mountains limned the horizon, gray and white and green peaks spearing the sky like the hands of grasping titans. When a wind blew by, Rei shivered, her still-damp clothes clinging to her skin like the gaze of a watching demon.

Damn. A watching demon? Rei's recent brush with demon-induced death was making a poet out of her…

Turning to Takeshi, Rei tried to set her unease aside as she said, "Hey, man. Can I ask you something totally different?"

"Sure." Takeshi turned toward her, hands in his pockets, warm smile on his face. "Anything."

"Today Genkai was… I dunno, training me?" Rei rubbed at the back of her neck before adjusting her wig, giving the lace-front two swift tugs. "She was trying to get me to feel spirit energy, and it just… it felt really hokey and weird."

"And you want my advice?" Takeshi said, pointing one bewildered finger at his face.

"Well, yeah!" Rei said. "Of course! You're the only person I know I can trust who also knows about stuff like this!"

Takeshi appeared pleased by that little factoid, straightening up with a smile. "Well, spirit energy and demon energy aren't exactly the same, but they're probably similar enough?" he said, gamely trying to answer Rei's questions. "I don't use mine much, if ever. Not really the fighting type."

"You're a lover, I know." Rei rolled her eyes while Takeshi laughed. "But do you think her training will actually do me any good?"

"Well, what is she having you do?" Takeshi asked.

Rei explained, telling him the tale of their many-miled run, hours under a waterfall, and sundry. She paid special attention to the weirdness under the waterfall. Feeling her body so she can connect with her spirit, as Genkai had suggested she do, seemed like an obvious paradox in Rei's book, and she said so.

But Takeshi was of a different mind. Stroking his chin in the wake of her description, Takeshi slowly murmured, "From the sound of it… yeah. Maybe that kind of training will help, yeah."

"Really?" said Rei, unable to keep the dismay from her voice.

"Why do you look disappointed?"

"Because I'm gonna have to go back under the damn waterfall and she made me take my wig off!" Rei groused. "Can you at least tell me why you think she's on the right track? So I can bitch and moan about it in an _informed_ way, at the very least?"

Takeshi thought about it for a minute before taking a deep breath, pointing at Rei and commanding: "Raise your right hand."

"Uh, why? What the hell?"

"Just do it, OK?"

And so, Rei did as Takeshi asked, right arm lifting high over her head. Takeshi gave her a curt nod at the sight, arms crossing over his burly chest.

"Very good," he said. "Now tell me how you did that."

"I, uh… I just sort of did it?" Rei said, not sure what the hell kind of answer he was expecting.

But Takeshi shook his head. "Did you think a command at your arm?"

"No," said Rei impatiently. "I just moved it exactly the way _anybody_ moves."

"And that's _exactly_ what using energy is like!" said Takeshi. "You don't _think_ of anything; you just _do_. All action, no theory." When Rei just stared at him, nonplussed, Takeshi added, "Genkai is basically just teaching you to be aware of a limb you didn't know you had." He flexed an arm to demonstrate. "Once you find it, it's yours to wiggle as you see fit."

"That makes sense, I guess?" said Rei.

But she didn't say it with much heart. Takeshi, bless him, noticed, as he always noticed when Rei wasn't feeling like her usual bombastic self. Taking her hand, he offered her a sympathetic smile, squeezing her fingers lightly with his giant ones.

"I'm sorry all of this is happening to you, Rei-chan," he said. "Really, I am."

"Thanks." She tried not to let her voice crack, although she mostly failed. "It's good to see a friendly face, by the way. This whole thing has been…"

Rei trailed off, because her voice wasn't the only thing that cracked. Her mask of humor and confidence and big, bright, loud enthusiasm had cracked a little, too, revealing the stress her volume so often tried to drown out, and no amount of wig-adjustment could help ameliorate that hurt. Takeshi knew that look of Rei's when he saw it, and without a word he pulled her into a hug. She returned the hug after a moment, sniffling into his shoulder as he stroked the back of her wig.

"Thanks," she mumbled against his arm. "For just being here."

"Don't mention it, Rei-chan." Takeshi only let go when she did, waiting for her to break the contact first. Smile earnest as a spring day, he said, "I'm here whenever you need me. OK?"

Rei kept her eyes downcast, not wanting him to see the tears welling in them. "It's just… one minute I'm going to classes and telling fortunes, and the next my whole world gets blown wide open—and then my normal little world turns into _three_ worlds and other species and real life powers." Here she rolled her eyes, humor-forged shield falling back into place. "What the hell kind of garbage is _that_, I ask you?"

"Yeah. That's a lot," said Takeshi. "I mean, I've never _not_ known about it, but learning to use the TV was hard when I first came here, so…" He mimed mashing buttons on a TV remote. "All those little buttons. The color settings. Not for the faint of heart, y'know?"

Rei couldn't help but laugh. Takeshi was talking about TV remotes being scary when he was this big, scary guy complete with ram horns and arms like tree trunks, and the contrast of that just got to her somehow. But then again, maybe that was the point, because at the sound of her laughter, Takeshi's grin lit up his blocky face like neon lights.

"You'll be all right, Rei-chan," he said as she giggled. "You know, you were the reason I decided to stay in Human World."

Rei's laughter died. "What do you mean?" she asked, curious. "And really?"

He nodded gravely. "Demon World is a real dog-eat-dog place, y'know? And it's like you said: I'm a lover, not a fighter. So when the barrier between the worlds came down some years back—"

"The barrier?"

"Ask Urameshi. He had a hand in it."

"He _what?_"

"Just ask him," said Takeshi with unyielding firmness. "But basically, what you need to know is that as soon as demons were allowed to come here, I was first in line to immigrate over. _Most_ demons came here for the same reasons I did, too: To find someplace safe. To escape the demon-eat-demon food chain. To just live, in a way we can't in Demon World."

Rei stilled, the beat of her heart rocking her gently in place like a wave pitching a boat on an ocean tide. Takeshi bore a faraway look in his eyes, staring out over the valley below them as if he couldn't quite see it. His large fists had tightened at his sides, mouth a thin line of angst across his face—a line made of memories he'd rather forget, but ones he drew to the forefront for the sake of his friend, Rei.

"Sure, Human World has its dangers," Takeshi continued as Rei watched, breath held tight inside her chest. "But it's nothing like Demon World. And that's scary in its own way." His expression warmed, the faintest of smiles returning to his eyes. "I didn't know _anybody_ when I came here. I didn't have any family or friends, and blending in was hard. Figuring out the _culture_ was hard. I almost went back to Demon World, even though living there nearly killed me more than once. So when I saw that sign on your door, saying you'd tell fortunes and dispense advice from the stars, I thought… it reminded me of home." He shrugged, sheepish. "It wasn't as mundane as the rest of Human World, even if the way you told fortunes was totally weird. The incense and the cards were just plain silly, but still, I let you read me... and your advice actually helped." He looked as surprised as she felt, hands spreading in surrender. "Next thing I knew, we were friends, I had a job, I was getting along with people better, I got to know Rikako, and then we started dating each other… and suddenly, this place wasn't so bad, after all. Suddenly, it felt like _home._"

A lump had built in Rei's throat as Takeshi spoke. It grew even bigger when he pinned her with a glowing smile, one lit from within by a joy that warmed her more completely than even the afternoon sun in the bright blue sky above. She couldn't help but return it, tears threatening once again.

"All of that is thanks to you and that power of yours," Takeshi said. "I hope Genkai's training works. Because you helped me, and I know you could help so many more demons if you could."

Rei took a deep breath. "Thanks, Takeshi," she said, voice holding remarkably steady. "I think I really needed to hear that."

Takeshi flushed, pleased. "Aw, shucks, Rei-chan."

"Say hi to Rikako for me?" Rei said, hugging him around the neck.

"Will do," said Takeshi. "Call me if you need anything? Left all my contact info in that box for you."

"Thanks," Rei said. "And you know I will."

It was true, what she said. She'd call him a lot in the coming days, for guidance and for comfort. He was her best friend. He couldn't get rid of her if he tried—and she had no intention of going anywhere.

Well. Anywhere except back up to the temple, that is. Rei sighed after Takeshi drove off, glaring at the steps leading back the wat she'd come as if she could glower them into submission.

"I fucking _hate_ stairs," Rei muttered—and without another word, she began the long, slow, arduous climb to Genkai's temple.

**XXX**

Kurama merely wanted a cup of his favorite loose-leaf tea and the kitchen's typical peace and quiet.

What he got, instead, was a kitchen occupied by both Yamato and Genkai, and all the chaos that came with them.

The pair was mostly alone, if you counted only sentient beings and not the bronze mirror sitting at Yamato's elbow. The mirror was accompanied by a large cardboard box that occupied almost half of the kitchen table. The rest of said table was covered in a random assortment of items Kurama vaguely recognized from Yamato's apartment, specifically the following: a pair of jade chopsticks resting atop a stack of dirty, sticky dishes; a deck of tarot cards; some wooden sticks with runes carved into them; a wooden box of loose tea leaves; a stack of books; and approximately eleven teacups, most of which were only half full.

In the middle of the chaos sat Yamato, who stared into the depths of a chipped blue teacup with a look of complete and utter desperation on her face. At her side a huge leather-bound book lay open to a page inscribed with various drawings and supplementary text. Genkai stood over her, glaring all the while. Behind them, a large stock pot of something boiled on the stove beside a copper kettle.

"Can't we take a break?" Rei was in the middle of whining when Kurama slid open the kitchen door. "Please?"

Genkai whapped her on the back of her head with a paper fan. "Quitting won't do you any favors, girl."

"But my head hurts and I've eaten, like, a _gallon_ of porridge!"

"Fine." Genkai hit her with the fan again, earning a yelp from Yamato. "You have half an hour."

Yamato all but threw down the teacup, sagging until her forehead hit the table. "Oh, thank _god!_"

Genkai rolled her eyes and stalked out of the room, affording Kurama only the most cursory of nods as they passed one another. He tried not to make too much noise as he set about brewing tea, but when Yamato stirred at the table, he thought it would be impolite not to at least offer her some. Turning to the table, he waited for Yamato to sit up and spot him before speaking.

"Tea?" he said, as gently as he could.

She shuddered at the offer, though. "None for me, thanks. I've had a gallon of that already, too."

Kurama was far too smart to understand the implication there (and the eleven teacups on the table certainly were a clue in and of themselves). "Trying to read the leaves?" he asked, already knowing what she'd say.

Yamato just glared in response. "What _else_ would I be doing, I ask you?"

Kurama chuckled, not at all offended. "I take it from your demeanor that you haven't had much luck."

She slumped again, defeated. "Is it that obvious?"

"Perhaps." Kurama suppressed a smile. "You're quite expressive, if I'm being honest."

"Thanks," she grumbled, though it didn't sound like she meant it.

Kurama continued to make tea in silence. Soon all that remained was to wait for the water to boil, and because it once again felt rude to do otherwise, Kurama sat at the table across from Yamato. She had pulled that large book in front of her, and she stared at its pages without blinking, black eyes all the darker for their depth and intensity. They looked like ink, Kurama mused, swimmable yet smooth as oil. Further highlighting their (lack of) color was her light auburn wig styled in loose curls, shade contrasting brilliantly with her alabaster skin and coal-dark gaze. It was a good color on her, brightening up her coloring… although the wig's curls appeared somewhat squashed and limp. Kurama wondered if she'd had time to style her hair, or if the taskmaster Genkai had not given her the chance when she no doubt forcibly tossed Yamato out of bed that morning.

"Can I ask you something?"

Rei was staring at him with those bottomless black eyes of hers, gaze oddly inscrutable despite her earlier expressiveness. Kurama wasn't the flinching type, so he did not react when Yamato spoke quite out of the blue. It had caught him off guard, to be perfectly honest, but he recovered quickly enough—too quickly for Yamato to notice anything amiss, he had no doubt. He only smiled a small, mild smile and nodded his response, indicating for her to continue without a word.

"My friend Takeshi stopped by earlier—you know, the demon one you met last night?" Yamato said. When Kurama nodded in recognition, she gestured at the box upon the table. "He came by to drop off that box and whatnot, and while he was here, he said you and Yusuke and Kuwabara have a certain reputation."

"Ah." Kurama's smile did not falter; he would not let it. "That."

Yamato studied him carefully with those bottomless eyes of hers. "So he wasn't just blowing smoke?" she said.

Kurama smiled. "I am afraid not."

"Care to elaborate?" she said when he did not continue speaking.

"I'm debating," he said. Fingers drumming against his thigh, Kurama slowly intoned, "It isn't my place to tell you Yusuke's life story. There are some things he may wish to keep private, after all, as may Kuwabara." He paused to think, then mused, "I believe Yusuke, in particular, is glad to have met someone who does not know who he is. He appears to enjoy your company and unvarnished treatment. And as for me…" He smiled again, a calculated look. "I told you the story of my life last night."

"It was more like your backstory, if you wanna get technical," Yamato said, not at all swayed from her fact-finding mission. "You didn't say much about your present or recent history."

"Perceptive," Kurama said, allowing that minor victory. Choosing his words with tact and care, Kurama admitted, "Let's just say that Yusuke and I in particular possess political influence in Demon World that grants us a certain notoriety."

"Political influence," Yamato repeated, staring at him.

"Yes."

Her face twisted with revulsion. "OK, demons I can handle, but _please_ tell me you're not politicians, too."

It was a comment so unexpected, Kurama couldn't keep from laughing—a true laugh, genuine and unrestrained. However, Yamato looked away when he laughed, and something in her demeanor seemed… uncomfortable. Avoidant, perhaps. So Kurama composed himself quickly, laughter quieting back into his typical mild façade.

"Nothing so scurrilous as that, thankfully," he said. "I confess I find politics tiresome."

"Good," she said, still not looking at him. "That's a breed of derangement I don't want to add to the clusterfuck that has become my life." Dark eyes flickered toward him at last, accusation legible in their obsidian depths. "You're _really_ not going to tell me anything else?"

Kurama smiled, sphinxlike.

"Fine," Yamato sighed, knowing she had been defeated. "Be that way, you spoilsport. Y'know, I—"

The tea kettle began to whistle, cutting her off. Kurama chuckled as he stood and fixed himself a cup of tea, returning to his seat once more to drink (it was only polite, after all). Yamato had resumed staring at her book, one hand extended across the table to fiddle with the jade chopsticks sitting across the small tower of dirty dishes beneath them. She didn't look up as he set his cup down atop the table, only raising her head when he spoke again.

"What does Genkai have you working on?" Kurama said, in order to make conversation.

Yamato shrugged. "Trying to read an accurate fortune on purpose, mostly." She gestured at the box and the many items spread across the table around it. "That box my friend Takeshi dropped off had some of my aunt's things in it. Haven't had a chance to look through the papers yet, but Genkai dove right on in and started making me use the other divination tools. Doesn't like to beat around the bush, that one." Sighing, she reached up and tugged at the front of her wig, thumb slipping under it for the briefest of moments. "Too bad I have no idea what I'm doing, and it's causing a setback of major proportions."

"And the book?" Kurama said, nodding at the hefty time.

Yamato rapped the open page with the back of her hand. "It's some kind of list of omens and portents my aunt used to read the future. Indexed by subject and then categorized alphabetically within subject, which I give her props for, but… see those?" Here she pointed at the jade chopsticks. "You eat off of a plate and then you read the future in the marks the chopsticks leave behind in the leftover food." Yamato groaned a little, staring at the chopsticks in disgust. "You basically read it like tealeaves, almost, but I had as much luck reading _those_ as I did divining the future in leftover gravy."

Although Yamato found the subject repellant, Kurama couldn't help but be intrigued. "Could you demonstrate?" he asked with a wave at the chopsticks. "I'd enjoy seeing the theory in practice."

But Yamato blanched. "You want me to eat _more_ of Genkai's nasty porridge? That recipe she made me make is just…"

"If you and Genkai weren't able to make any headway, perhaps a fresh set of eyes are in order," Kurama reasoned, trying to sound helpful (when in reality he was mostly just curious, but there was no need for Yamato to know that). "Even if mine don't possess the Sight quite the way yours do, I can lend my eyes to the task."

Yamato hesitated—but then her hands slapped the table. "Fine," she said, rising. "But if I throw up, I'm blaming _you_."

He suppressed another laugh; no need to make her uncomfortable a second time, much though he felt like laughing. Instead Kurama watched in silence as she removed a fresh plate from a cabinet and ladled some porridge onto it from the pot sitting on the stove. She appeared quite green as she sat down to eat, spooning bloated grains of rice and the starchy sauce around them into her mouth in quick bites. He suspected she was holding her breath as she ate, because once she shoveled down the last bite, she exhaled with force and then gasped for air, cheeks reddened from the strain.

Again, Kurama had to try quite hard not to laugh, and at this endeavor he mostly succeeded. Not quite enough, though, because his stifled chortle earned him quite the glare from Yamato. She resumed ignoring him as she set the chopsticks aside and pulled the book toward herself, flipping its pages with one hand as she held her freshly dirtied plate with the other.

"So in theory, because I cooked the food, and I ate the food, and I wielded the special magic chopsticks, this future will pertain to me personally." Yamato squinted at the plate, tongue poking from the corner of her mouth (once again making Kurama want to laugh). "Now, that little squiggle _there_ looks to me like… a lizard?" She consulted the book. Nodded resolutely. "_Definitely_ a lizard." Yamato rotated the plate a little. "But from this angle… _oh, shit, it moved_. Now it's, um… a tomato?" Flipping desperately through the pages, Yamato whispered, "Shoot, where did that entry in the book go?"

"Yamato. Stop."

He didn't intend to reach out and grab her hand. It was more of an instinct than a conscious intention, one born of a spark of realization that made keeping still impossible. He half rose from his chair and grabbed her wrist before he could allow himself to stop, and when she looked up at him in surprise, her black eyes looked as deep and as dark as a well carved into stone—a depth you could drown in, if you were not careful. But Kurama was careful (always, always careful) and withdrew quickly, releasing the warmth of her wrist at once.

"Apologies," he murmured. "But I think I've figured out the problem."

She practically dropped the plate, she appeared so happy to be rid of it. "Oh my god, really?" she said, all but gushing. "Tell me everything!"

"There isn't much to tell," Kurama said. "I'm afraid the problem is that you're trying too hard."

But Yamato's lips pursed. "That's funny. Genkai said I wasn't trying hard _enough_."

"Genkai is a traditionalist. I believe her training will benefit you in the long run, but… your ability to read fortunes isn't exactly within her realm of expertise," Kurama said, hoping that if Genkai overheard, she would not take offense (he certainly didn't mean any; he only spoke the truth, after all). "Her training regimen is most useful when applied as the foundation for physical disciplines like healing and combat techniques."

Yamato's eyes burned black. "If you tell me I spent two hours under a freezing waterfall for nothing, so help me—!"

"Wouldn't dream of it," Kurama smoothly interjected. "I am merely suggesting that Genkai's training should function as a building block upon which you may base your reading of fortunes, as it will get you in touch with your energy… but it isn't a direct corollary to actually reading the future."

"OK." Yamato's ire cooled somewhat, though she still appeared uneasy. "So what are you suggesting?"

"You read the fortune of your friend Takeshi with no instruction. How did you do that?"

She threw up her hands in frustration. "That's the problem—I just made shit up that sounded good!"

"Which means you followed your instincts, you might say?"

"I mean, I guess so?"

"Then do that here. Now." He smiled, hoping the expression would offer her some comfort. "Stop attempting to read the future using any methods but your own." When Yamato did not look convinced, he added, "As I said, Genkai's training is a solid foundation, but you are in control of your own methods. Do not forget that you have had success before, in your own way. Trust in that to carry you." He leaned forward, in spite of himself, to tell her: "Trust _yourself, _Yamato, and you won't be steered wrong_._"

Yamato closed her aunt's book, movements slow, and pushed it away across the table. She didn't look at Kurama. In fact, ever since he'd said she was in control, she hadn't been looking at him. She only stared at the tabletop in silence, black eyes once more inscrutable—and arresting in their mystique.

Lest those eyes overtake him, Kurama looked away quickly.

Gaze on his teacup, he asked her, "What are you thinking?"

"Not much." Yamato's lips barely moved when she spoke. "Following a hunch, I guess."

Kurama nodded. "I'll leave you to it, then."

Kurama stood, and at the same time, so did Yamato. Before he could gather up his cup of tepid, half-drunk tea, Yamato shook her head and reached for it, balancing her dirty dishes on her other arm. She held quite a few at once; Kurama suspected she might have been employed as a waitress at some point, grip precarious yet expert.

"Here," she said. "Let me get that for you."

"Thank you," Kurama said, turning toward the door—but as he set his hand upon the knob, and as the sound of running water filled the room, he stopped. He turned back as the sound of dishes clinking into the sink cut the air. He turned back to tell Yamato that everyone had gathered in a nearby courtyard to help Keiko hang wedding decorations, and that she should join them if she so desired and once her training ended.

But Kurama, when he saw Yamato, did not speak. He simply stared at Yamato, who stood near the sink, water flowing freely from the faucet beside her. She didn't move a muscle. She stared instead into the depths of a single teacup held gently in both hands. She didn't blink, didn't shift her weight, didn't so much as breathe. She just… stared. Stared trancelike at the cup as though it held the secrets of the universe—just out of reach, yet tantalizingly close.

It was _his_ cup, he couldn't help but notice, that seemed to hold these secrets for her.

"Yamato?" Kurama said.

She didn't move. A reply came out on the current of her breath, no more than a whisper in the quiet kitchen. "Yes?" she breathed, not looking away from the cup.

"Are you all right?"

"I'm fine." She shook herself at last, blinking her way back into the waking world. "I just…"

She stopped speaking. Looked at the cup again.

"Yes?" Kurama pressed.

Yamato took a breath. Smiled. Placed the cup into the sink. Didn't look at him. Said "It's nothing" in a way that belied the phrase's meaning.

"I don't believe you," said Kurama evenly.

Yamato's gaze flickered toward him, then away again. Her lips rolled together. She tugged on her wig once, then twice. Hesitated. Took a deep breath.

"It's entirely possible I'm just imagining things," she said with a confession's deserted desperation. "I'm probably just hoping I read your fortune on purpose. A hallucination born of hope. That sort of thing." She waved a hand dismissively, but then it dropped to her side like a stone. Helpless, she searched his face and murmured, "But _you_ made the tea. _You_ drank it. And I swear to god I just saw…"

The air felt thick, like wool stretched across the back of his neck.

"What did you see?" Kurama asked.

He didn't want to ask. He wanted to _demand_. He had every right to demand answers, if she had glimpsed a future that belonged to him—but then Yamato shot him a sheepish smile. She laughed to herself, rubbing at the back of her neck. Amusement colored her cheeks as laughter filled her eyes.

In spite of himself and all his best intentions, Kurama's urgency cooled.

"I'm gonna keep it a secret, if you don't mind," she said, pressing a finger to her lips like she had told him a delicious secret. "Just until tomorrow, though. Day after tomorrow at the latest. Is that OK?" Her smile returned, even more sheepish this time. "I, ah. I don't want to bias you."

Kurama thought about it.

Yamato smiled.

Kurama heard himself say, slowly: "I'll pretend not to be intrigued in the meantime."

Yamato laughed.

"Good luck with that," she said, and she reached for the dishes in the sink.

Only when Yamato started humming to herself, up to her elbows in suds, did Kurama reach for the door again. But when Yamato chuckled, sound magnetic, he couldn't keep from looking at her one last time.

Still standing beside the sink, she had once more picked up Kurama's teacup. She stared into it with an amused smile, the barest hint of confusion troubling her onyx gaze. She looked more surprised than anything. Like someone who had been given an unexpected gift, but she wasn't quite sure why she deserved it.

Kurama wondered what her eyes beheld.

He wondered—but he did not ask again.

One day. Two, at most. That was all she'd asked for. It wasn't long, in the grand scheme of things. He'd lived far longer than a mere two days. What were two days more?

One day. Two at the most.

He could give her that much, he reasoned.

**X**

**I wanted to start updating regularly and talked a big game about it, but life overheard and kicked me in the face with responsibility instead. Because life is a nasty bitch. OUCH.**

**Ubiquitous "OC trains with Genkai" scene is ubiquitous LMFAO. Is it **_**really**_** a YYH OC fic without a scene like that? I THINK NOT. And no shade against Genkai, but I don't actually think her usual training methods are a great match for a seer like Rei. They'd teach Rei control of her core power, but the actual-fortune-telling-part wouldn't fall in Genkai's wheelhouse.**

**These people are fuckin' shiny-ass pearls with spectacular luminescence for leaving reviews and making my goddamn day: Zayren Heart, Lady Milk-Tea, cezarina, Lady Skynet, SailorVenus, empressofthedead, SterlingBee, xanaldy, bunnyonvenus, Exhale Vanilla Lace, guest, Meno Melissa, silverthornz! Seriously though, WHERE DID ALL OF YOU COME FROM?**


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